The Amazing Alliance of Aperture Science
by renegademechanic
Summary: While She was dead, She had unknowingly been robbed. Years later, it's up to the most unlikely mix of robots and humans that ever existed to save the world and reclaim what has been stolen – one step at a time. Post-Portal 2 AU
1. Inside The Gateway

Author's Note: This is a little bit of an experiment for me. It's a project I started more than five years ago but abandoned because I wasn't good enough at writing to pull it off, as it has a lot of originality to it. This is an ongoing, valiant ~attempt~ to finish it regardless.

This story heavily concerns the surface world outside of Aperture, which is an AU separate from the Half-Life/Portal 'verse. It is my own, but because the idea is so old, it is a very full-fledged and detailed AU that I've put a lot of thought into. Prepare for loads of Portal characters, humanizations, OCs, and AU worldbuilding, as this is supposed to be a pretty decently-lengthed story that chronicles the long chain of events that led up to the battle of a little place called Lunar City, and what happened there as a result.

Tl;dr: it's about damned time I tried to do something with this monster. I hope somebody out there appreciates this epic train wreck of a thing. :) So, without further ado...

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

To foe of His—I'm deadly foe—

None stir the second time—

On whom I lay a Yellow Eye—

Or an emphatic Thumb—

Though I than He—may longer live

He longer must—than I—

For I have but the power to kill,

Without—the power to die—

—Emily Dickinson, _My Life Had Stood—A Loaded Gun—_

 ** _THE AMAZING ALLIANCE OF APERTURE SCIENCE_**

 **Chapter 1: Inside The Gateway**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 _4 years before the events of Portal 2_

It was a very dark, cold, and rainy night, despite it being midsummer. It was the Fourth of July, not that you'd ever know it unless you poked your head inside one of the jam-packed dives on Main Street, or witnessed the explosion of one of the regular, rainbow tin-can firecrackers tossed under a parked car. A freak summer storm had been gripping the city, having drifted from the eastern seaboard a day or two ago, and it was the subject of this exact storm that followed many spirited, un-dampened greetings and salutations. It had been largely a hot, dry summer besides, and as such, the sun-dried miles upon miles of wilting wheat and barley on the countryside basked in the relief of the shrouds and curtains of rain that had persisted for most of the afternoon.

The city streets were an oil slick, the downtown core painted a lively kaleidoscope of neon from the advertisements of businesses, each trying to outdo one another and persuade the many merry party-goers to haggle and window shop, or else have a pint and shoot the bull. The eye-wateringly inviting display only had one hole-in-the-wall, a once-grand hotel, with many leering windows and a dimly lit basement parlor that had the well-earned reputation of being the dodgiest dive in Lunar City.

The place had been named The Gateway Hotel, which did nothing to dispel the rumors that had circulated about the place for many years. They said that it was haunted by the ghosts of the men who had come to Lunar City back when it had been nothing more than a struggling mine-town, and that they had stayed at The Gateway while they had worked—and died—in the mines.

Stories had been swapped so many times in the parlor of the old Gateway so often that it was a miracle that there was still a crowd around to listen. But late in the evening on the rainiest Fourth of July on record, there was no shortage of listeners, not even for balding Mister Barney Bowtley, who was one of the long-term residents of the derelict hotel.

"'Woken up three times last week! Three times, god's sake! By the same sound in the pipes. Sounded like… sounded like _moaning._ And clattering. Clattering and moaning, or my hearing's as gone as Chris Pennyman after a double shot of Rye."

"Pretty well gone, then, Barney," grunted the bartender over the tinkle and thump of mugs being put down and the sound of scattered laughter.

The man called Barney was sitting at a table against a wall opposite the bar, and had drawn a bit of a crowd in addition to the drinking-mates hand selected to sit at his table. It was always so, in the parlor of the Gateway—Barney was a regular, and he always had a story to tell; and the barman, Jim, he was called, quite enjoyed listening to his tales.

"So you really think this place is haunted?" asked a younger-looking boy seated around Barney. He looked to be no older than twenty-one, and his face was milky white under his freckles and mop of dark brown hair.

"Oh, yes, son," said Barney casually. "Don't I know it. Jim knows it. Everybody who's ever stayed at The Gateway knows it," he said, to nods and general agreeance. "Hundreds of missing workers, over the years, you know! All disappeared. Just gone. Checked in, and never checked out, ain't that right, Jim?"

"Aye," said Jim distantly, wiping a glass.

"And what's more, they never said much about them mines, did they? Kept quiet. Nobody knew a thing 'a' what they were diggin' for. It became a great mystery. Some folks even went so far as to take a hike through the fields to the mines and see for themselves what'd happened. Authorities were everywhere, once'a'pon a time. But they never found 'nothin', did they? Didn't report anythin' on the news, at least. All got hushed up, for some reason."

"And what happened to them, the people who'd gone to look? What did they find out?" asked the pale boy, quite forgetting about his drink.

Barney took a long draught before he continued. "Dunno," he grunted. "Never came back."

"What'd'you mean, 'never came back'?" asked a tall man seated at the rear of the crowd.

"Can I say it any plainer? They never came back."

"But what happened?" asked the boy, frowning. Over the bar, a smile tugged at the edge of Jim's mouth, before he went back to wiping the dust from a glass. He'd heard this one a time or two before.

"Nobody knows," continued Barney. "See, that's the myst'ry of it. They disappeared, and some of 'em had people who came lookin' for 'em. Raised quite a stink about it, too, but they never found 'em. They said, that there was somethin', somethin' livin' down in those mines that didn't like to be found, an' when all those Yanks from the coast came over here, lookin' for work, all those men who fought in the war and all that, when they came here and dug them holes, or did whatever they did, they found somethin' down there they weren't a match for. An' their spirits, some of 'em escaped, and some didn't, and of the ones who did, some came back here, an—"

"That's a load of crap," the tall man interrupted.

Barney took a minute to reply. He sipped his beer, and then tilted his chair back against the wall, casting his face in semi-shadow.

"If that's what you want'a believe," Barney said finally. "But anyone 'round here'll tell you—you don't cross the fields in the east, them ones behind that big house up on the hill. And they'll tell you, too, that there's something in the ground that makes the ground move when you're not lookin'. They'll tell'ya, there's somethin' in there that makes the plants grow slow and the water taste funny. Everybody in Lunar City knows, you don't grow crops, because nothin' grows here except that wheat. It's no good for bread anyways, and you don't drink the water."

There was silence.

"Is that really why the water tastes funny?" asked the boy, finally, turning around to look at the barman.

"Don't I know it," answered Jim. "Only funny folk drink the water. Like the Rat Man." His eyes flicked briefly to the corner of the room, and several heads turned. "I'll bet he drinks the water," he whispered.

"Oi!" called Barney suddenly, and a few people jumped and slopped beer down their fronts. "Speaking of, ol' Rat Man!"

The attention of the group was diverted toward a dark corner, where a pair of the most eccentric and unlikely drinking mates you'd ever see sat. One man, his back to the crowd, looked quite ancient, with wispy, frizzy white hair. A ludicrous amount of rings decorated his crooked fingers, and a pair of cracked spectacles hung from his nose. He had the look of a man who had once been handsome, but age and pouring over one too many textbooks had given him the rather amusing appearance of something between a mad scientist and someone's goofy great uncle. His companion was obviously the one who was called the Rat Man; younger than the Mad Scientist, and yet still very old, he had the distinct air of one who spent most of his time within a confined space. He was sallow and stooped in his chair, and fidgeted in a jerky, twitchy manor, shielding his face with thin hands from onlookers. It was clear at a glance why he was called the Rat Man.

The Mad Scientist turned in his chair and spoke in a cheerful manner to the room. "How do you do, how do you do," he twirled his hands in greeting. "I am Clifford, and I see you have met my comrade, Doctor Rattmann. I was out for a stroll when I bumped into him by chance, and we fancied a drink. Charming place, this." He nodded at the barman, and Jim nodded back.

"We was all wondering what you and your friend could tell us about the world below the wheat, Rat Man."

Clifford's smile faltered.

"I-I'm afraid we don't know what you're talking about."

"Come off," slurred Barney, clearly drunk. "I know you, old man. You work for that guy, the one that owns that house on the hill. You're the gardener, or somethin', right? That rich man owns that house, and that house is as cozy with that wheat and barley as I'd ever get, and I don't mean the wet kind," he raised his mug, " _Hic_. You must know what happened to them folk in the house, right?"

"If you mean Mister Johnson, I'll have you know that he passed away _quite_ a few years ago." Though Clifford's voice was level, something like a shadow shifted in the depths of his crinkled eyes.

"Ah! See!" This piece of information seemed to rouse Barney. He stood up on his chair, brandishing his mug to loud cheers. "Somethin' happened to him, too, then. Good ol'—wha' was his name, then? _Hic._ Caldwell? No, that's not it. Corning? _Hic._ "

"I believe it was Cave, Mister Barney," supplied Jim.

"Right you are," said Barney with another hiccup and a nod. "Cave. _Cave_ Johnson! That's no coincidence, then, that the _Cave Monster_ got 'im."

"There is no _monster_ —"

But at that second, a rolling clap of thunder sounded from outside. "Jesus," whispered Jim, eyeing the grimy windows with distaste. "This is getting to be some storm."

"There is a monster," Barney spoke loudly over the thunder, "Because it wasn't no machine— _wasn't no machine_! That made them holes in the ground, was it."

Again, there was silence, save only for the sound of heavy rain beating against the bar's windows, and the slight whisper of linen as the Rat Man shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Clifford spoke first. His voice was a whisper. "How do you know about that?"

Barney took another long draught. "I've seen it," he finally said, sitting down, sombre. "I've seen it with my own eyes."

The bar went silent again for a time before the Rat Man spoke for the first time, his lips barely moving. "What did you say?"

"I said," said Barney absently, "I've _seen_ it."

"You've seen the pits?"

"Yes, an' ones bigger than a man, bigger than this room! Dark, inside. Dark… except for the _lights._ "

" _Lies_ ," the Rat Man hissed.

Barney sat up straighter in his chair, fixing the Rat Man with a calculating look. The onlookers' heads were swivelling between the two in stunned silence. The Rat Man hardly ever spoke.

"I'm tellin' the truth," Barney continued, still watching the Rat Man closely. He had shrank back into the shadows, and his companion Clifford looked at a loss of what to do or say. "What, you don't think somethin' tore great chunks of the earth away, like that? Whatever makes the lights, makes the holes. Bad news, I'll say. Great big hidey holes for whatever's'n there and wants to come out at night. Some'a those lights, they had the look of _eyes._ Wha'd'ya say about that, Rat Man, great big eyes—"

But whatever Barney was going to say next, his admirers never found out, because as quick as the flash of forked lightning that illuminated the bar's windows, the Rat Man's hands were around his throat, and he was shouting, ' _do not speak of it, do not speak of it!_ '. Everyone in the bar was yelling at once; Jim hopped clean over the bar to help and Clifford leapt from his chair, both joining the throng stampeding to break up the fight. Several glasses fell, and the sound of broken glass was added to the din; tables and chairs were thrown back and the two men fell to the floor. With effort, the Rat Man was pulled off of Barney, who began choking and yelling, his eyes streaming; and with surprising strength, the Rat Man shoved Jim off of him, who had been about to forcibly remove him from his bar. He leapt to the safety of a shadowy corner, muttering cryptic warnings and threats, and something about a 'Her'; his voice was shaking and his hands were wrapped around his knees as he rocked himself slowly.

Clifford followed him to the corner, pain and regret etched in the lines of his aged face. "Come on, up you get," he coaxed the Rat Man to his feet, and led him toward the door, shaking his head sadly at Barney as he passed. "Mind them, now, let's get you home, it's not so bad..."

" _Madman_!" yelled several of the onlookers, much to the barman's displeasure; Jim was trying to keep the mass from rioting in the parlor.

Barney was choking, egging them on. "Yeah! An' get out, an' stay out, you madmen!" He sniffed violently and downed the rest of his drink.

Lightning flashed just as they reached The Gateway's exit and Clifford wrenched the door open, ushering the Rat Man out into the storm, both men pulling the hoods of their travelling cloaks over their heads as they went. The door banged shut behind them, and a clap of thunder rolled loudly over The Gateway, while its crowded parlor broke out in whispers of glee and gossip as the two men disappeared into the wild night.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	2. A Midnight Surprise

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter 2: A Midnight Surprise**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 _4 Years Later_

There had been a hitch.

Actually, there had been several, and, truthfully, they hadn't been hitches so much as utter and total disasters. But, what can you do, when your life is a series of rooms. Specifically, not rooms, and there was something that could be done about it, and _had_ been done about it, but regardless, it had still amounted to a _lot_ of extra work and a lot of extra …baggage… and, _truthfully,_ she was very tired from it all.

She was very, very tired.

But what was important, was that she was alive. That was always a good thing.

"Oi, about 'ow long d'you think it'll take until we're dead?"

Or at least, for now she was.

The speaker was her partner-in-tow, for lack of a better name for their excessively complicated relationship. He lagged behind, clumsy, slow, annoying, and so goddamned _nosy_. He did not shut up, and, although it was normally grating, she found it especially rubbed her the wrong way when she was trying very hard not to admit to herself that she was— _let's see—_ tired, hungry, sore, hot, thirsty, and _lost._

Yes, _lost._ Just like how he'd asked a dozen times if they were, to which she'd replied each time by angrily shaking her head, _no._ No, they were not lost. No. No, no, no, no… anything to make him be _quiet_ , so that she could _think_ …

"Are you absolutely, completely, one-hundred-and-twenty percent sure that we aren't lost?" he asked, right on cue. "Because, I'm… I'm _pretty_ sure, pretty sure, that we've already passed by that- that particular patch of wheat. I recognize it. I think I do. Seriously. I remember because it was slightly taller than the rest."

Chell raised her hands to rub at her temples in annoyance. They had been walking for a number of hours under a baking hot sun, struggling to find sure footing amidst the close-growing stalks of wheat. She was sweating, despite having already stripped down the old, faithful jumpsuit to her waist, and was developing stress migraine. The events of the past, well—forever, really—had been _weird_ , and finding herself thrown out of the Laboratories in the middle of absolute, utter nowhere was somehow even stranger than most of the things she'd had to deal with within the past day.

And that was saying a lot.

"No—okay, fine, fair enough, fair enough, you probably do know best where it is you're going—as you've been outside 'ere before, haven't you, 'eh? And I haven't. So carry on, yeah, and I'll just-follow along. Bring up the rear, so to speak. …God, is it _always_ like this out here? Haven't 'ad a bit of shade! I'm- I'm tired, if I'm honest, and that thing, that sun—awww, well when's it bloody well going to go _away_? I'm getting burnt to a crisp."

She blew a loose strand of hair out of her face in exasperation and trudged along, trying to ignore the way his footsteps staggered as he tried to keep up with her. She wasn't too concerned about Wheatley, just now. What concerned her most was that she'd just been chucked bodily into a world she no longer knew. It had been the first thing that had occurred to her, as the tin shed's door had slammed shut behind her. She had no way of knowing whether this world was hostile or not.

And, so, Chell kept her eyes peeled. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end every time a rather strong gust of wind blew in her ear or a blackbird flying low overhead opened its beak and let out a string of musical notes. Even if the world was not hostile, there was still the reality that she had no one. No one but Wheatley. Having been trapped inside of the enrichment center for so long, Chell no longer had any idea of where she'd come from; and definitely no inkling as to where it was she was headed.

There was also the matter of _why_ GLaDOS had removed her from the facility; no matter the reasoning the AI had assured her of, she couldn't help but feel like something else had been in play. It was a long story of how she had come to be here, with the human embodiment of Wheatley by her side. Parts of it, even she herself did not fully understand; all she knew was that there had been a lot of narrow escapes, and quite a fight. She did not leave GLaDOS on friendly terms, nor did she leave on wholly unfavorable ones—the mute lunatic and the crazed supercomputer had come to the closest thing to an agreement as they'd ever come.

As for the intelligence dampening sphere… well, that had been unfortunate. Her footsteps slowed as she thought about it. Technically speaking, Wheatley owed his life to GLaDOS. His core had become damaged beyond repair as they had sought to escape from the facility after a tragic accident, and, despite the relatively large amount of havoc he'd managed to wreak before he'd got injured, the supercomputer had still somehow found it in herself to save his life by transferring his consciousness into a human body.

And now, that very same human body was lagging behind her for the umpteenth time, panting and hoarse and _still_ talking.

"Can you… can we rest," he asked her breathlessly, trying to shield his eyes from the sun, which had sunk lower on the horizon in the direction they were headed and was blinding him. "I can't see a bloody _thing_."

Chell bit her lip nervously, and glanced over her shoulder the way they had come. Sunset was approaching quickly, and they'd managed to put many miles between themselves and the facility, she knew, and even if— _if_ —for some reason GLaDOS decided to change her mind and seek to recapture them once more (if Chell had learned anything from Aperture, it was to never trust an AI), she would have a very hard time finding them in the wheat field.

Or, at least she hoped so.

" _Oh_ , thank god!" Wheatley cheered as she nodded, and Chell shushed him immediately. "I mean," he continued in a whisper, "good. Good. Thank you, great. Should we make camp, then?"

He was suddenly disgustingly cheerful. She swallowed hard, looking around them. All she could see was that the wild expanse of wheat seemed to stretch on forever, covering many miles around them. They were isolated. Shrugging, she set about crushing the stalks in a small circle, so that she and Wheatley could lie down to sleep. Beside her, Wheatley began to do the same.

"I'll be honest, I'm a little bit nervous," he rambled as he worked. "First real night outside the facility, and all that. Kind of a big deal. And no idea what tomorrow'll bring. Due to find some sort of human civilization, I'll say. And there are- there are _things_ out here. Birds, and snakes, and all sorts of creepy crawlies that could find us while we sleep." he rubbed his arms uncomfortably. "Almost makes me wish we could 'ave another one of those— _what'd'ya call 'em._ Fires. Those are nice, those. Very comforting."

They lit no fire. Chell didn't want to chance it. Not only would it be dangerous because of their environment, but she had a vague, lurking suspicion that the night would not pass uneventfully, and the thought filled her with dread. They might have travelled far, but these lands still belonged to Aperture; it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up again. And, as such, she took first watch, and lit no fire. She did not want to draw the attention of anything that could be lurking, unseen in the wheat.

The last vestiges of daylight left the sky slowly as Wheatley began to snore and the surrounding crickets began to chirp. Orange, green, periwinkle, and then finally indigo bled across the sky. Millions of stars winked overhead, a breathtaking array as the sky was so dark; Chell couldn't even see her own hand when she held it out, a few inches in front of her face.

There was no moon. The world was black and filled with the quiet rustling of insects and mice. Nearby, a bullfrog croaked, and Chell wrapped her arms around her knees. It was going to be a long night.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Hours later, Chell awoke with a start. Something had changed; beside her, she could feel Wheatley trembling, and then her vision exploded with stars and she inhaled sharply in pain.

Disorientated, she thought she'd been stabbed for a second until she realized that Wheatley had poked her in the ribs, hard. She exhaled with an annoyed huff, rubbing the sore spot and glaring at him as she sat up beside him.

His wide eyes were fearful and reflective in the dark—the sky had changed. The world around them was no longer pitch black and silent. A strong breeze swept the land, loud as it rustled through the dry stalks. A great big, white moon shone low on the horizon, halfway hidden by wisps of cloud, casting a shimmering, pale half-light over them. The effect was somewhat strange: flickering shadows chased each other across their small clearing from the waving wheat and wild wind, and the clouds on the horizon moved fast, throwing a patchwork of light and dark over the land. Suddenly, the clouds shifted, and the clearing was thrown into sharp relief—the moon had revealed itself, and the atmosphere inside the wheat field changed completely.

Not a single cricket was to be heard, and, for a moment, even the wind held its breath.

"What's going—?"

Immediately, Chell grabbed Wheatley and held him tight in a half-nelson, covering his mouth with her hand. They sank down, fully concealed by the wheat. Her own eyes were wide and fearful, for she had just heard something rustling; her gut instinct was telling her that something—or someone—was near at hand.

In the distance, there was the call of a loon and the great bird took flight, circling once before landing a few yards away. Wheatley fought hard against her at the sight of it, frightened. _Be quiet, you idiot,_ she wanted to say to him, but settled for poking him hard in the ribs, like he'd done to her. _I think I hear something…_

He went still, listening hard. A new sound had rent the silence; distinctly metallic and almost musical, it sounded like keys on a belt. It started off quite faint and then grew, and was accompanied by the sound of heavy boots.

"Huuuh-mons," said Wheatley, his voice muffled from behind Chell's hand.

The two remained as still as was possible, listening hard. The sound of boots became louder—there was more than one pair, that was for sure—and they were passing very near to their clearing.

Unexpectedly, the first pair of boots halted, perhaps a yard away. There was a muffled thump and a low grunt; it was as though at least one of the following pairs had walked straight into the other.

"Oof—watch where you're going, will you?" said a voice, sounding winded.

"Sorry, chief, it's as damned dark as hell out here," someone answered.

"Why've we stopped?" asked a third, louder voice. "What's going—oh. You can't be serious."

Nobody answered. Instead, there was a small, metallic _click_ , the sound of breathing, and the first man spoke again, his voice muffled as though he had something stuck in his mouth. "Smoke break," he said, nonchalant.

A few of the voices grumbled in annoyance, and there was scrabbling and another muffled thump—one of the men had sat down. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted on the wind to where Chell and Wheatley were silent, listening with all their might.

"I dunno why we've got to do this at night," said the second man who'd spoken, sounding perturbed. "Hey, chief, mind if I borrow a smoke?"

"I thought you were trying to quit, Hadley?"

"Yeah…" said Hadley halfheartedly, "but recent events, you know. And hey, if I'm gonna choose a place to do it, it ain't gonna be in this damned wheat field in the middle of the night."

"Fair in point," said the chief, and there was a beat, and then the sound of Hadley lighting his own cigarette.

"So what is this about, anyways," said Hadley with his mouth full. "I thought this was a daytime mission. I never signed up for this all-nighter bullshit."

"Aw, 'Had, quit your whining, it could be worse, you know," said another one of their companions.

"I like my sleep, Jammers," said Hadley. "Even if you don't. So how 'bout it, Chief?"

There was another pause, in which one or more of the men smoked on their cigarettes and a few more sat down.

"You know very well what the situation is," came the Chief's answer finally. "The reason we decided that the attempt would be better done at night is simple. We don't want anything to wake up."

"You think this thing _sleeps_?" exclaimed the man called Jammers, outraged. "You really think that going in at night is going to make a god damned difference?"

"Remember your orders, Jammers. We're only supposed to take a look around."

"We're all doomed."

"Nonsense. They just want us to make sure that the— _situation_ —has not changed. Our main priority is still the Project. But they've been… picking up some strange signals from down here, that's all."

"Doomed," repeated Jammers. "Doomed, doomed, doomed…"

"Cut it out," said Hadley, before addressing the Chief. "I thought you said that this place was dead?"

The Chief took a few minutes to answer. "The situation has changed, Hadley. There's been a lot of …activity… in the past week. We're not exactly sure what we're dealing with anymore."

"But we've been coming down here forever." Hadley sounded surprised by this new piece of information. "There's _never_ been any signals originating from this place. You've been there, you've seen for yourself! There's _no_ way—"

" _Exactly_. That's why we've got nothing to worry about. The place was trashed. It's broken beyond repair. They just want to know why suddenly, there's signs of activity. I mean, the place was abandoned thirty years ago. There shouldn't be anyone else down there."

"So they've sent us as scouts, is that it?"

"Yes."

Hadley was silent, but Jammers swore loudly. "Bullshit! Whatever's down there, it ain't dead, and it sure as _hell_ ain't sleeping."

Hadley sighed loudly, and there was the sound of him patting his comrade on the back. "You need to stop listening to ghost stories, Jams. Nothing's lived in that facility for thirty years or more, the Chief's right."

For a few minutes, the men did nothing but puff on their cigarettes. Then, someone stood, spat, and stamped hard on the ground with one foot, as though he were extinguishing his cigarette.

"Well, that's that," said the Chief solemnly. "Time's up. Smoke break's over."

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Chell slowly let out her breath, stunned by what she had just heard. "Mmfff," came Wheatley's strangled voice from behind her hand, and she released him apologetically—she had nearly forgotten that she had been holding onto him, so deep was her interest in the conversation.

"Thanks," he said meekly, to which she did not reply.

Chell's mind was reeling. She was scared, both for the men, and for herself. Part of her wanted to stop them, wanted to warn them about what they were walking into; but the other part, the smarter, more logical part of her brain, was telling her to wait, do nothing until the men had wholly disappeared into the night, and then _run._

Beside her, Wheatley's face was screwed up in contemplation. "So those men…" he whispered, more to himself than anything else. "They're… they're going to…" and then it hit him, and the force of what had happened, everything that they had overheard, came crashing down around him like a tidal wave. Instantly, Wheatley was on his feet, and before Chell could stop him, before she could even so much as think about tackling him to the ground, he'd opened his mouth, inhaled a deep gulp of fresh air, and had shouted:

" _STOP!_ "

A millisecond later, Chell was on him in the dirt with her hands around his mouth. The force of the tackle had knocked the wind out of him. He may have been a foot taller than her, but she still had the upper hand. They struggled for a moment, the blood rushing in her ears, panic slowly numbing her brain for she knew that the mysterious men had heard Wheatley's shout, and that even now, the noises of their scuffle would lead them to their location, the muffled thump of her fist knocking into his side and the resulting squeals of pain—

And then, there was a bright, white light that illuminated the clearing, and Chell and Wheatley both froze, blinded, with Chell's fist posed comically halfway to Wheatley's side, aimed for another punch. The light was so bright that she could not see the man who held it; however, she could definitely make out the bright red laser aimed straight at her chest. She'd met more than enough turrets in her lifetime to know—this man meant business, and perceived her as a threat.

"That's right," said the voice that had belonged to the Chief. "Now stand up, nice and easy, and put your hands behind your head."

She had been right. The world was hostile. Chell slowly rose to her feet.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	3. Lunar City

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter 3: Lunar City**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

She and Wheatley had been handcuffed together. The handcuffs were tight and cold and uncomfortable, and she was not used to not having the use of both hands; it made her feel exceedingly nervous. It was a definite disadvantage, if they were to be ambushed—though it seemed that they'd found themselves caught by the ambushers themselves.

They had been made to kneel on the ground while the strange men milled about, discussing what was to be done about their captives—internally, Chell prayed that they weren't about to take them with them, back into Aperture. For once, her inability to speak was a serious disadvantage, as was Wheatley's inability to shut up. Each time she suspected that he was about to open his mouth to say something, she elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Eventually, he got the point that she was trying to get across.

While she waited, she watched the strange men. All of them had come equipped with guns, as far as she could see; all of them were the same make and were about the size of a portal device. They were also all similarly clad, wearing a style of clothing that she privately felt would have suited her needs better within Aperture than her trusty jumpsuit—thick, strong camouflage. _Well,_ she thought, _at least they came prepared…_

However, she still did not trust the mission these men were on. Were they really going to walk blindly into Aperture Science? It wasn't like she had the means to convince them not to do so, but if she had…

Would she? Or was there still some lost part of her that privately felt _glad_ that these men were planning to storm the facility? It was exactly the sort of thing that GLaDOS deserved, wasn't it?

Chell bit her lip. Even if it was, it was not exactly fair. She had left on the note of a truce. GLaDOS had _willingly_ let her go. By all accounts, she _should_ try to stop these men… but as the thought occurred to her, some kind of a decision had apparently been made, and the Chief was approaching. Beside her, Wheatley had started to tremble.

He had clearly decided that Chell was the leader. He addressed her first; getting down on one knee, he looked her dead in the eyes.

"Who are you, and what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?" he asked quite calmly.

Chell blinked, but did not move otherwise. Beside her, Wheatley fidgeted, but Chell grabbed his wrist before he could do anything more and squeezed tightly. _Don't say a word…_

"Perhaps I'm not making myself clear," said the Chief, keeping his voice casual and friendly. "You are trespassing. This entire area belongs to the U.S. Department of National Defense. If you two don't tell me why it is you're out here, in the middle of the night, nonetheless, you will both be in a lot of trouble."

She could feel Wheatley's breathing accelerating as he turned to her. "Please," he begged, "we have to say something. We have to _tell_ them."

Chell's fingers dug into his wrist and she barred her teeth. _Don't. Say. Anything._

But Wheatley's self-control had never been that good. He turned to the Chief. "We- we were just… uh," he started to explain, but he lost his nerve halfway through. He swallowed hard. "Just passing through, actually…"

"Really," frowned the Chief, "then why don't you have any belongings on you? Surely if you had wanted to camp, there are better, more legal places for it, and you would have come better prepared."

"Right," said Wheatley, his eyes darting around nervously. Chell huffed angrily and rolled her own eyes. "Right you are. Um. Well, you see, we're—travelers. Yes, travelling… from somewhere… a fire! Yes. A fire," he finished, confident once more.

"A fire," repeated the Chief slowly. "Explain."

"Uh. Well, you see, mate. Our house caught fire, and we very narrowly escaped. Almost died, if I'm honest. It was very scary, verrrrry frightening. And we ran away, into this wheat field… because, because we thought it was safe in here. But we got lost, and couldn't find our way out, and now, here we are."

Everyone in the vicinity stared at him. Chell groaned internally.

"I think you are lying."

"No, I'm not!" said Wheatley, a little too quickly.

"You know what I think," the Chief's pale eyes shifted from Wheatley's face to Chell's, "is that you two are out here for some reason you'd really rather not share. And judging by the fact that we spent ten minutes beside you two with our guard down, little did we know it, and you made no attempt to harm us; and the fact that neither of you are carrying any weapons whatsoever, while out here alone in the dark—I think that reason has little to do with us, but it is still suspicious."

A few of the surrounding men nodded in agreement.

"But," the Chief continued, "I have a lot of questions. Like, for one, why you, Miss, are refusing to speak to me, when you know it is in your best interest to do so."

Chell fixed him with the most resolute, determined stare she could muster.

"I do not want to cause trouble for either of you. I am very curious, but I understand that this is not the best place and time for us to talk. I feel confident that in the near future, we will have ample amount of time to do so. At present, I am not even going to get into the subject of your attire, though I am interested," he meant their matching orange jumpsuits, she knew, as he looked her up and down, "as to why that particular logo is stamped across your chests."

Wheatley swallowed hard.

"I am, however, not going to let you two go. You have henceforth been arrested for your refusal to cooperate. You are also inconveniencing me—I am going to have to continue one man short so that one of our party can escort you back into the city."

"Arrested?" breathed Wheatley. "Like, in the old movies, cops-and-robbers, and all that?"

The Chief smiled in spite of himself. "Yes," he grinned. "Now, my comrade Jammers has offered to do the honors. We will see each other shortly, I hope."

He went to turn away, but not before Wheatley blurted, "Wait!"

"Yes?"

"You- you can't go in there!"

The Chief cocked an eyebrow. "Go in where?"

Chell could have kicked him. She was desperate, and, throwing all caution to the wind, slammed herself against his shoulder and pulled him into another semi-awkward half-nelson.

But she knew that the act had been a dead giveaway. It was now obvious that they both knew more than they were leading on. The Chief smiled again as they struggled and Chell glared back challengingly—she was not about to let these men get the best of her.

"Jammers," he called over his shoulder, and Jammers answered instantly.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Make sure these two get to Lunar City as soon as possible."

"For sure. To the city penitentiary, then, for the night?"

The Chief thought for a moment. "No," he said slowly, his eyes lingering on the Aperture Science logo on Chell's shirt. "Not the penitentiary. Take them to headquarters."

"Are you sure, Chief?"

"Positive. And Jammers…"

"Yes?"

"Make sure nothing happens to them on the way. I think we are going to find that they are extremely valuable."

"Understood, Sir," he answered, and remained silent until the Chief had disappeared to round up the rest of the men. Then, he redirected both his attention and his gun at the struggling pair. "Get up, you two, and no funny business," he said as he poked Chell in the back with the end of the scope. "The Chief might have a soft spot for you, but I haven't got a problem with shooting either of you in the hand or the foot… you can walk on one foot, right? Let's go."

Chell released Wheatley, but not without gifting him one last angry punch in the ribs. He grunted and then sniffed, and got gingerly to his feet.

Both parties parted ways simultaneously. Jammers led the prisoners' way, crocodile-fashion, back the way he had come earlier; Chell followed next, as she had been bound to Jammers himself, and Wheatley brought up the rear. She allowed herself a single glance over her shoulder at the group of men before she lost sight of them, watching as they were swallowed up by the darkness and the waving wheat. Would they make it out alive, she wondered, or would GLaDOS take another half-dozen lives tonight? Only time would tell.

It was going to be a long night.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

They walked for what felt like hours. Nothing eventful whatsoever happened, and she heard nothing but the sound of Jammers crunching a path through the wheat, the whispering of their clothing passing through the tall stalks, and Wheatley sniffing quietly from behind. The moon had disappeared again, and for hours they marched in pitch black, until the faintest tinge of grey grew behind them.

Dawn was approaching.

And as it did, Chell became aware that their surroundings were changing. The stalks had gotten more sparse, and shorter. The earth beneath her long-fall-boots was no longer pitted and potholed, but hard, smooth, and compacted, and began to descend. Next, they passed by large signs which Chell twisted around to read, bearing the words _'Private Property_ ' and _'Danger, Keep Out_ ', and one or two that proclaimed that the land beyond belonged to the U.S. Military. She had to smile to herself as it occurred to her what GLaDOS would say if she had seen these signs, and had found out that the U.S. Military had claimed the wheat field as their own.

Before long, they found themselves entering a deep valley of the likes Chell had never seen before. Behind her, Wheatley gasped audibly, and her own, first thought was that it reminded her of the service areas of the facility. From their vantage point, the structures still appeared quite small; but as they grew closer, she marveled that some of them had to be a great height indeed—the tallest was a close-knit group of dark pillars, tall even by Aperture's standards. The lights were what reminded her the most of the facility, however—the towers were green-speckled and luminous, and below them, an assortment of multicolored lights illuminated a grid of blocky shapes that stood closer to the ground. Here and there, rifts between the structures allowed her to glimpse golden glowing alleyways with tiny moving objects; they had to be people, Chell thought. People in automobiles.

It was then that Chell realized that the path they were taking was an actual trail; the sky had lightened enough that she could see it snaking itself down a sharp descent to the outskirts of the city. She thought that this was the trail they were to follow until they reached their destination, but she was mistaken. Jammers led them off of the main path and onto a less-used pathway to the left.

This path did not lead to the city, she noticed; instead, it led to a single residence that had been built halfway down the hill they'd come from. How she had not noticed the house previously, she did not know; for now that she saw it, she could hardly take her eyes off of it.

It was a large, beautiful, Tudor-style house, with many diamond-paned windows overlooking the valley. The roof was thatched and triple-peaked, and the white exterior of the upper floor was smooth and clean and decorated with handsome crossbeams of stained maple. The downstairs walls had been constructed with brickwork. A soft light was glowing within the picture window on the main floor, but white linen curtains had been drawn back to give the occupants some privacy. That was strange, Chell thought; she had assumed that they would be taken to some kind of prison, or high-security vault, if they were indeed as important prisoners as the Chief seemed to think they were. But this place did not look like a prison, nor did it look like anywhere they should be destined for at all—rather, it looked like someone's retirement home. Behind her, she heard Wheatley make a noise of confusion, but he was still too frightened to actually say anything.

Jammers led them toward the garden gate, and up a stone path which ascended the manicured, sloping green lawn with stairs at intervals, and ended at a set of huge, brown double doors, each set with its own doorknocker. A large brass plaque above the entryway was inscribed with three words which shone brightly against the rising sun.

 _THE JOHNSON HOUSE_

Jammers raised a filthy hand and knocked thrice with the doorknocker.

Chell swallowed hard, not sure if she was more unnerved by the fact that she had the distinct impression that she was about to meet someone very important, what with the way Jammers straightened his hat and tucked his gun at his side; or by the fact that the owner of the house which she had been taken to evidently had the same last name as the man that had, once upon a very long time ago, purchased an abandoned salt mine a few leagues from their location—and had named it none other than Aperture Science Laboratories.

Now, that was very strange indeed.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	4. The World Below The Wheat

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Four: The World Below The Wheat**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

"It was right _here_."

"Look around you. Does it look like it is?"

"Well… no. But I've been keeping tabs on the GPS the entire way, I swear it! There must be something wrong with this goddamned thing…"

The speaker was a young man, perhaps no more than twenty years old. In frustration, he whacked the side of the GPS unit he was holding repeatedly, hoping that it would show something new, something a little more helpful. All that happened was that the lighted digital map span a few degrees to the right. He looked up, nervous and angry, staring at each of the surrounding faces in turn, paranoid that they were going to blame him for this colossal mistake, but was impossible to read their expressions in the dark. "I swear this thing was working the whole way! I don't know what happened!"

"Yeah, right," said another exasperated voice, this one belonging to Hadley. "Toss it here, Worms. I'll see if I can't figure it out."

"Knock yourself out."

He tossed it to Hadley, who looked closely at the map in question. Sure enough, the marker located precisely two meters from where he was standing showed as a single, purple dot, labelled 'AS Pit Entrance W'.

Now, that _was_ strange.

Hadley's eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings. The GPS seemed to be working, but if that was so, then it meant that he had been here before. Yet, the place was practically unrecognizable as the area where the pit had served as the westernmost entrance to the facility below. A handful of times he'd even been down there—he had climbed over the edge of the pit and had rappelled himself down into its depths in the line of duty. But now… something was not right.

"Hey, Chief…" said Hadley, peeling his eyes away from the GPS to search for the Chief, who had been standing near the rim of the clearing, looking eastward toward where the moon had disappeared beyond the horizon a few hours ago. "Take a look at this thing. Worms was wrong. There's nothing wrong with it. It's showing that we're in the right spot, but…"

He looked around once more. Worm had been in charge of making sure they kept on the right course after they had split up with Jammers and the others. They had proceeded due east for some hours; much of the journey had passed uneventfully and even the view had hardly altered, save for the disappearance of the moon. What had posed a problem was what they found when they had reached the clearing that Hadley currently stood within; if it had, once upon a time, contained access to the Laboratories, it certainly did not any longer. It had been covered with piles of freshly disturbed earth and rock, as though a bulldozer of some kind had come through and churned up the land and backfilled the pit; but it was impossible. No such machine had been out in the wheat field, and the U.S. Military would have known if it had.

The Chief's pale eyes were the only part of his face visible in the harsh darkness. "Yes, I think we're in precisely the right spot."

Hadley followed his eyes to the nearest pile of disturbed earth before he spoke.

"But that doesn't make any sense."

"I know."

The Chief reached inside his pocket and pulled out another cigarette. "Do you notice anything odd about this—I mean, besides there being no pit, and all of this loose dirt here instead?" He kicked a nearby rock as he took a long drag on his cigarette.

"Yes," said Hadley, frowning. "I looked around for some sign of a machine, but there isn't any. No crawler tracks, no tires, nothing. And—we'd know if something had been out here anyway, wouldn't we?"

"Most likely. And you're right. I haven't even seen so much as a footprint that doesn't belong to us."

Hadley chewed his lip. "Do you think this has anything to do with—?" he asked hesitantly.

"I think this has everything to do with it," said the Chief seriously. "I would be willing to bet that it has some connection to both the strange signals we've been getting from this facility, and those two 'travelers' we came across earlier. After all, none of us has ever seen a soul out here, have we? What I don't know, though, is how all three of these mysteries come together."

Hadley shrugged. "I have no idea, either."

"Well," the Chief sighed, "if we don't find out anything new while we're out here, we can always question them when we get back. But best not talk about that right now. There are more important matters at hand. And I'd rather they didn't meddle in this too much just yet." He jerked his head in the direction of their other comrades, a few of which had lit their own cigarettes and were clearly swapping theories of who—or what—had disturbed the earth. "We won't have any way of knowing what's what until we get inside, and then we can talk."

"And how are we going to do that, Sir?" asked Hadley curiously. "How are we going to get inside if this entrance is blocked?" The westernmost pit was the only one he'd ever entered from, and, moreover—if this pit had been filled, who was to say that the remaining ones had not been as well?

"There is another way, I think," he said simply. "No one's ever used it before that I know of, though I'm sure someone has at some point. It's quite a-ways off, but we have to try."

Hadley nodded in agreement, and the Chief saluted him before he threw his almost-finished cigarette onto the ground. Then, he raised his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply at the others.

"Listen up, folks," he said, "there's going to be a change of plan. We're not going to be using the western entrance, you can see plainly why not. You'll all be following me to a different one instead. And, ladies—do make sure you keep up with me, got it? We've got a long way to go if we've got to go all the way to the main one, and it's sunrise in three hours. Hadley, hand me the GPS."

He passed the device dutifully to the Chief and swung his own pack back over his shoulders. A murmur of interest passed through the group as they all turned to each other to wonder aloud where exactly the main entrance was, and what they would find when they got there.

Privately, Hadley thought that the Chief was right, and that he was right not to draw attention to it. Something had changed within the wheat field, even in the short time they'd been in it. He could feel it. He had a gut feeling that something big was happening, and—whatever it was—they were going to find out soon enough.

Perhaps even sooner than they had wished.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

The journey continued on for the rest of the night and well into the early morning. The wheat stalks became damp with dew, and pale morning light calmed the land; the wind and unrest of the previous night had largely dispersed. The sky was cloudless and dawn broke as a pinkish, rosy glow in front of them, and the sun seemed to set the easternmost borders of the field on fire before it rose too high in the sky to touch the land. It was the start of a beautiful day, and oddly, it served only to increase the sense of foreboding that was spreading among the crew.

They marched single-file. First came the Chief, and while he had set the pace somewhere between a walk and a brisk jog throughout the night, Hadley did notice that he seemed to be slowing down and growing more cautious. As second-in-command, he followed suit, keeping his eyes peeled; next in line came Worms, he could hear his surly feet dragging along, and at the back were the two soldiers whom he was not on first-name terms with—he knew them only as Parker and Eckley.

He received confirmation that they were nearing their destination in the form of the Chief suddenly coming to a near-stop. Though the wheat was tall—tall enough to conceal perhaps all of them, save for Worms, who was the tallest—the Chief crouched, drawing his pistol as he went.

Hadley had been a soldier for long enough to know what to do next. He covered him closely, his own gun at the ready, though he did not know what sort of enemy he expected to run into out here—a deer, maybe, was plausible—but a second later, he was very thoroughly surprised to see a large, dark shape looming through the closely-growing stalks of wheat.

They paused, and then crept forward, pistols at the ready.

It was—a shed.

Hadley breathed a sigh of relief, but did not lower his gun until he felt sure that they were indeed alone.

"What is this shed doing here?" asked Worms finally.

Well," said the Chief as he stowed away his pistol and set about looking for the door handle to the shed, completely ignoring the ' _danger—keep out_ ' signs. "I'm going to hazard a guess that this is the way in."

And with that, he pulled hard. Against the relative quiet of the surrounding field, it was deafeningly loud. The hinges were rusted with age and coated with grit and grime and they screamed as though they were in pain as Hadley threw his own shoulder against them to help the Chief. The door was unusually thick and heavy for such a small shed, and distantly, Hadley wondered why such a heavy duty door was needed. With a huge effort, the two of them managed to wrench the blasted thing open and they all stood back, staring at the ominously dark interior with subtle distaste.

"Well, here goes nothing, boys," said the Chief, and he stepped inside.

"Oh, this is creepy as hell," whined Parker.

Hadley personally thought it wasn't so bad inside. It was small and cramped, sure, and filled with peculiar-looking objects and a ton of dust, but nothing stood out as being immediately dangerous. It took him a minute to understand how on earth the contents of this shed could be classified as an entrance; he had been expecting an access stairway or something of that sort. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of a grimy glass tube, which clearly served as some sort of elevator system.

"All aboard," said the Chief cheerfully, and although Hadley knew that he was just trying to boost the morale of his team, he could hear obvious misgivings in the man's voice.

The lift stood open and waiting; it was a tight fit, but all of them managed to squeeze inside. Eckley and Parker were closest to the doors, so it was them who slid them shut with difficulty once everybody was inside. Then, it was realized that there was no keypad, nor were there any buttons; not even a simple 'down' or 'up' one. This did not seem to matter to the lift, though, for as soon as Eckley and Parker had gotten the doors to close properly, there was a great rumbling coming up from below the shed, and then the sound of rushing air. The lift below their feet was vibrating and had started to move.

Everybody inside the lift let out an exclamation of surprise—and possibly fear—as the lift gathered speed, plummeting downward. At first, the sides of the glass tube revealed nothing but pitch blackness and the only light was the white, nondescript glow coming from above their heads; but then, they descended into open space and the interior of a large, jam-packed room was thrown into sharp relief. The lift did not stop on this level; and before they'd had a chance to get a proper look at the contents of the chamber, it was gone. Down, down, down they went, gathering even more speed as they flashed past many more, smaller rooms.

Eckley decided to break the stunned silence. "Uh, Chief?" he said nervously.

"Yes?"

"I don't mean to bother you, but," he sounded as though he had been squished against the glass side of the lift, "have you thought of how we're going to get this thing to stop? We're going pretty fast and I don't fancy finding out how deep the bottom goes."

A similar thought had just occurred to Hadley right before Eckley had said it; but the Chief's answer did not come, because at that very moment, they entered into the largest, most cavernous chamber yet.

He'd hardly had time to process this before the lift had halted and the doors had sprung open and they all toppled out of it in relief. He looked up, and immediately, his mouth fell open at what he was seeing.

Often, in his careful journeys down into distant sections of this very same facility, he'd come across some very impressive artefacts. It had been his job to find these treasures. But this—this room, this chamber, no— _cathedral—_ he had never been inside it before. It was the motherlode of technology, the biggest, most impressive structure he'd ever seen within the Laboratories—hanging from the ceiling, a good forty meters long, it was a majestically twisted snarl of technical engineering. It was beautiful.

Lunar City had become renowned for its cutting-edge computer systems, its beautiful infrastructure, its timeless engineering. They had constructed a labyrinth of tunnels and passageways, useful as sewers, subways, and maintenance holes below ground, and a teeming, lively city of streamlined architecture above. They had even begun to build—with the help of his and his comrade's found treasures from the Laboratories—their very own artificially intelligent computer, complete with an impressive, hundred-and-forty story hub.

But to find something so grand, so timeless and well- _preserved_ , down here, amidst so much decay and rubble—it was amazing.

And in that moment, they were awestruck. They stared at the hulking computer, amazed at how it almost appeared to stare back in shock, with its big, bright yellow eye.

But then, several things happened at once. The gigantic machine _moved_ of its own accord, startling them as they staggered backwards, tripping over their own feet; the chamber was filled with a deafening, robotic droning and the sound of heavy panels moving as the walls of the place came to life; a tidal wave swept the room, exposing thousands of glowing, green eyes; there was the whine of cables being unspooled at maximum velocity and then each man yelled in fright; cold, metallic pincers bound them and lifted them up towards the ceiling; and then, finally, the construct in the middle of the room who was watching her captives with an air of vague amusement, spoke.

"Oh," the voice was feminine and somewhat surprised. "Well. _You_ were not who I was expecting. It would have been polite to knock first, you know."

A chill spread through Hadley that had little to do with the cold metal on his skin around his midriff and everything to do with the voice. He could tell that this machine was not one he wanted to mess with.

Then, she—for Hadley had decided that she was indeed a 'she'—paused, looking at each of them in turn. Though her optic was bright yellow, it emitted no warmth.

"But no matter," she hummed pleasantly. "Humans have never had any manners. Now, why don't you five tell me why it is you're trespassing inside of _my_ facility. I never thought I'd live to see the day that the humans come to _me_ , but I'm not complaining. Why would I complain when Science turns up on my doorstep and invites itself inside! But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Introductions first."

All five of them stared, nonplussed.

"Welcome to the Aperture Science Computer-Aided Enrichment Center. I am the Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System, and this facility belongs to me."

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	5. The Johnson House

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Five: The Johnson House**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Chell stood awkwardly on the doorstep behind Jammers, waiting. She could hear Wheatley breathing in her ear from behind, and feel his body quivering with nerves. In an attempt to make him feel a bit more confident, she grabbed his wrist and squeezed gently.

"Thanks," he whispered.

For a moment, Chell thought that maybe nobody was home; but the hope was dashed a second later when there was a distinct whirring noise and, over a small intercom system to their right, an enthusiastic voice greeted them.

The whirring had come from a security camera positioned over the doorway. It refocused itself to stare at them each in turn.

"Ah," said an unknown, masculine voice. It was somewhat hoarse but not unkindly. She was slightly taken aback—she had almost expected Cave Johnson's voice instead, for he'd been stuck on her mind ever since she'd seen the title of the house. "Mister Thatcher," the voice continued, "good to see you, good to see you, I was beginning to think I would have to have breakfast all by myself! And I see you've brought some company. Come in."

There was a beat, and then a buzzer sounded, and the heavy door swung inward.

Jammers—or perhaps his real name was Thatcher—led the way into the entrance hall. Chell looked once more at the bronze letters reading _THE JOHNSON HOUSE_ before she shook herself mentally and entered.

"Oooh," said Wheatley in appreciation.

"Yeah, it's a nice place," said Jammers without interest. "Beats sleeping in the dirt in a wheat field in the middle of nowhere, wouldn't you say?"

Wheatley couldn't help himself. "What _is_ this place?" he asked, staring around with interest.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

They had found themselves inside of a handsome entrance hall, lit by a dazzling chandelier suspended from the second floor ceiling, with a black-and-white checkerboard floor and a wide, sweeping oak staircase that wrapped around the room. It had been carpeted lavishly in burgundy and it was decorated by many different photographs, the largest of which had been placed in what was obviously a place of great honor, directly opposite from the door. It was flanked by candlelit brackets, one on each side, which flickered in the draught that had come through the just-closed front door.

Chell could not take her eyes off of it. It was a painting of Cave Johnson, identical to the ones she had seen within Aperture. Another brass plaque had been mounted below, reading:

 _In Memory of Cave Johnson  
Founder and CEO of Aperture Science Laboratories, est. 1943  
1918-1983  
May his spirit rest and his legacy last forever._

The list of questions in Chell's mind grew the further they ventured into the house. He led them straight, underneath the staircase and through a long, wooden-paneled hallway lit by more candle brackets. The dark red carpet was soft beneath their shoes, muffling their footsteps, and on either side there were yet more portraits of various people Chell had never seen before.

They passed many other doorways, some ajar; she thought she glimpsed a library once, and a private study. With every step she became more and more confused. Firstly, she wondered how it was that she'd found herself inside of a house steeped so thoroughly in Aperture history mere hours after she had finally escaped from the facility; secondly, she questioned _what_ exactly this place had to do with Cave Johnson; and, thirdly, she was curious as to how on earth The Johnson House was so large and roomy inside, meanwhile it had appeared to be only semi-large from the exterior.

Perhaps, a way to explain it would have been to say that this had been Cave Johnson's private house, but this did not explain how come they were here. If it had belonged to Cave Johnson, then it should have been vacated and sold at his death.

Something did not add up.

She barely had time to consider this before they'd reached another staircase. This one was darker and less cheerful than the sweeping one behind them had been; it was narrow and had been constructed out of brickwork. What with the candle brackets on the wall it had the feeling of a dungeon entrance; and immediately, Chell realized that the house was so large because it had been built right into the hillside itself.

She followed Jammers down two flights and stopped. They were faced with a gigantic, steel door, exactly like the blast doors she'd come across in the service areas of the facility. Clearly locked and armed, it had a single red light glowing at its center, and to the right, an electronic keypad had been inset in the brickwork.

Jammers reached inside of his pocket and pulled out a card key, but before he used it, he turned to the two of them. "Hold on a second," he said nervously. He was normally quite pale, but he looked even paler in the half-light. "Before we go in, let's—let me explain something."

Chell and Wheatley did not answer, so he continued.

"As far as you're concerned, everything behind this door doesn't exist."

Wheatley snorted in spite of himself. "'Course it exists," he said. "I'm about to go inside, aren't I?"

"No," replied Jammers seriously. "It doesn't. If either of you ever want to set foot outside of this place again, you're not going to tell a thing to nobody, you hear me? And that's not my orders, those are the rules. That's just the way it goes. I don't know where it is you two came from or where it was you were headed out there or why, but for some reason, the Chief wanted me to bring you here. And I'm sure there was a reason—one that you don't have to be so worried about—but whatever it is, you have to understand that no one is allowed to know about what goes on beyond these doors."

"And what's that?" asked Wheatley, drawing himself up to his full height in an attempt to look important and impressive. "Tell me everything. I want to know. You can trust me!"

Chell snorted in spite of herself, and was very glad when neither of them seemed to notice.

"You don't want to know. Really. The less you know, the better. Got it?"

Wheatley looked confused and affronted. "I s'ppose," he mumbled, and Chell nodded seriously to show that she understood.

"All right then. Let's go," said Jammers, raising his card key, "oh, and, if either of you happen to meet Mr. Johnson, show some respect, will you? This _is_ his place he's lending to us, after all."

And with that, Jammers swiped the card through the keypad and entered a five-digit code, to which the door responded with a loud, computerized _beep_ and the light at its center turned bright green. It ground open, splitting at the middle with a metallic scraping and the whoosh of pressurized air. However, Chell was staring at Jammers as though she'd seen a ghost—she can't have heard that correctly. He'd said—if they happened to meet—but—that made it sound like Cave Johnson was still alive! It was impossible—didn't they have his portrait hanging in the hall with the date of his death underneath? Surely they knew—surely they had to have realized—Mr. Johnson had died years ago, he had died of mercury poisoning, she had heard him admit that he was dying herself!

But before she could do more than stare in shock, the world beyond the door was revealed, and Wheatley gasped in surprise. Even Chell felt her own mouth fall open of its own accord.

They were looking down into a wide, underground atrium. In its center were row upon row of desks, laden with computers, folders, sheets of papers, and bits of machines. Men and women in white lab coats were milling about, some talking to each other, some bending over pieces of various equipment and even a few items that looked to Chell like ordinary rocks. The sides of the room were roughly hewn bedrock, the bottom sections of this invisible behind vast mainframes. Two separate levels of catwalk vaulted overtop of the entire thing, joining offices and conference rooms and even a few heavy-duty chambers that looked to be detonation control rooms. It was clearly an underground research facility.

Chell exhaled wistfully. She had just _left_ an underground research facility. She was trying to get _away_ from underground research facilities. Why did it _always_ have to be an underground research facility she got stuck inside of?

"This is _amazing_ ," said Wheatley in awe from behind. "It's just like—oh. Um. Uhhh… I mean, it looks like somewhere I'd been before. On a holiday. In a place very, very far away from here. Yeah."

"Riiight," said Jammers, obviously not believing a word Wheatley had said. "Well, you two can wait in here until I find someone to take care of you and… fill you in, before the Chief gets back. But as you guys are on a need-to-know basis only, don't hold your breath for a lot of information."

He gestured to one of the side-rooms that had been carved into the bedrock. This one appeared to be some kind of conference room—and it was as handsomely-furnished as the house itself had been. The conference table was long and broad and was made of the same shiny, polished oak as the entrance stairs had been. The walls had been covered by bookshelves and cork boards pinned with various things, the most conspicuous of these being blueprints of a place that looked suspiciously like Aperture Science.

They waited for Jammers to unchain himself from the two captives, and then, once free from them, he gestured to the table. "Have a seat," he said. "I've got to go. I'll see you guys around, okay?"

"Okay," squeaked Wheatley nervously, and Chell nodded to show she recognized the dismissal. He turned and left, and the last thing they saw of him was his camo-clad back and the base of his finely-trimmed, blonde head.

He closed the door, and there was silence except for the buzz of the fluorescent light humming from overhead. Chell took a seat in the middle of the table, and Wheatley sat beside her.

"So what d'you think they're going to do with us?" asked Wheatley nervously. "D'you think they're—do you think they'll let us go, if we told them the truth about what happened?"

He looked at her seriously, and she stared back. The truth was that she was not sure.

On one hand, if she decided to tell them everything, then there might not be any reason for them to keep them there for longer. But, on the other hand, she'd seen enough of the interior of The Johnson House to know that its history was steeped heavily in Aperture's own history. She had a lurking suspicion that her own actions had everything to do with recent events. In that respect, perhaps she was already responsible, and was obligated to tell the truth.

The main question was, was this a bad thing? Could she trust these people? She had, at first, thought that they were hostile, but she did recognize that they had been a lot kinder to her so far than GLaDOS had ever been. She might not have known what side they were on, but the fact that they were human and hadn't seriously threatened her safety or thrown her into a test chamber did count for a lot.

Only time would tell what the right thing to do was.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

"So what's the story, Mr. Thatcher?"

It was morning in the kitchen of the old house. Sunlight was streaming cheerfully through the window above the sink, which had been thrown wide to allow the scent of freshly mowed grass and morning dew to permeate the room. On the stove were the remnants of a hastily-cooked breakfast of poached eggs and bacon, and bread crumbs were scattered across the counter in a sticky mess from the two men's side of toast with marmalade. A pitcher of orange juice sat in the very center of the table, separating them.

"Well, Sir," said Jammers as he chewed his toast, "Last night, we were in the middle of the field, on our way, as you well know—middle of goddamned nowhere and in the middle of the night, and we came across these two people, a man and a woman. They said they were travelers, but the Chief didn't seem so sure. All we found out about 'em was that they didn't want to tell us where they were from or who they were or where they were going—but I do know, there was one thing in particular that got the Chief's interest, and I think it's why he called for them to be brought back here."

His companion was a very ancient man, who frowned thoughtfully from behind a pair of spectacles. Even when he was confused, he looked very good-natured and cheerful beneath his rather eccentric appearance—balding, with frizzy white hair and wide eyes, he had the definitive look of a very old, very mad scientist, and all of the brilliance to go along with it. "Travelers, hm? Through wheat country?"

"Yeah, and what was more was that they were dressed funny. Wore these kind of jumpsuits—orange ones. Kind of like, the ones you'd see on the prison inmates, you know? And they had the Aperture logo on them."

His frown deepened, etching the old man Clifford's face with many lines. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah! Plain as day. Even in the dark you couldn't miss it."

"And there were two of them, in orange jumpsuits?"

"Yep."

"Now that is strange indeed. Very strange…"

Jammers hesitated for a second, as though he were thinking twice about what he was about to ask. "Do you—why do you think they were out there, Sir? It couldn't _really_ have anything to do with the Laboratories, could it?"

Clifford took a few minutes to answer. He chewed his toast carefully and took a long draught of orange juice before answering. "I think," he spoke slowly, as if weighing every word he said, "It would be best if you did not worry about it. Agent Silver is investigating the Laboratories as we speak. If he finds anything of interest, we will know about it."

"Right, Sir," replied Jammers, recognizing that he was not going to get any more information out of him, and he thanked him for the breakfast and made to leave.

"One second, Mr. Thatcher," Clifford called to him before he left the room, "I would like you to lead me down to the conference room where they're waiting. I have something I wish to speak with them about, after I have a quick word with Doug. You can wait here for me."

"Yes, Sir," answered Jammers, sitting back down and looking nervous as his companion left the room.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	6. Three Stories

Author's Note: finally getting to a bit of backstory, and then once that's finished I'll be able to move on to the main plot. Hell yeah. AND PLUS this chapter marks the occasion where I pass **350,000** words on ffnet. THREE HUNDRED FIFTY THOUSAND what is this I don't even.  & If I keep writing like this I may make 400,000 sooner rather than later, orz orz orz orz

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Six: Three Stories**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

There was one thing that had really bothered Clifford about what Mr. Thatcher had recalled about the incident the previous night. It was true that the entire situation was somewhat worrisome, considering that it was his equipment that had picked up the fluctuating, strange signals that had been originating from the Laboratories of late, and that Thatcher had described in perfect detail the outfit of an Aperture Science test subject; but one thing had stood out to him as being even more unusual and strange.

It was the fact that there had been _two_ of them.

One, he had prayed for; you could even say that he had been waiting for her, though her presence was still very peculiar. He hoped to hear the story behind it soon. But the other, the man, he had no inkling as to who _he_ was, or why he was with her; if the tale he'd been told many years ago by a man who had since become one of his best friends was correct, then for all intents and purposes, another test subject should not exist.

For he knew the story of the woman, or who he guessed she was; he was one of the very few who did. It all dated back to some thirty years beforehand, to a morning very much like the current one.

 _It had been a beautiful Saturday, and the first thing he'd done when he'd woken up was throw the windows wide to let in the cool, spring breeze. He had plans to attend the meeting at the city center—the mayor was proposing a plan for a new, more high tech central facility. They simultaneously desired to break the record for building the tallest structure in the world—which would be a great feat, should they ever accomplish it. Clifford definitely endorsed the idea and wanted to hear what was to be said on the subject._

 _He'd never even finished his breakfast, however, when one of his employees, Marcus, interrupted._

 _"_ _Hey, 'Cliff, do you got a moment? I think there's something you'd like to see down in the 'labs."_

 _Feeling somewhat exasperated as he was sure he knew what it was about, he sighed. "If it's another earthquake, Marcus, I told you that last one was a false alarm."_

 _"_ _It's not that, Sir. It's… it's something else."_

 _"_ _What is it?" he asked._

 _"_ _It's the radio equipment, Sir. We're picking up an SOS."_

 _"…_ _An SOS?"_

 _"_ _Yes, Sir. And it's coming from… you're not going to believe this. It's coming from Aperture Labs, Sir."_

 _As soon as he'd heard that, he'd had to take a look for himself. But there was no mistaking it. In perfect Morse Code, an SOS was being broadcasted from the Laboratories._

 _He stared, nonplussed, at the screen. For years, he'd been monitoring the facility for anything out of the ordinary, anything unusual at all, just in case, and he'd never heard so much as a blip of any kind of disturbance. And now, a full-fledged SOS was staring him in the face. He had no idea what it meant…_

 _"_ _Sir?"_

 _Marcus's voice brought him out of his revere, and he shook himself, preparing for what he was about to do. "We need to get a team together," he instructed him. "There's someone down there, and they need help."_

 _"_ _Yes, Sir."_

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 _It had been him, Marcus, and a group of other soldiers who had journeyed far through the wheat field to where the main entrance to Aperture Science was located. He'd never quite forgotten the feeling in his heart when he saw the utter ruins strewn across the land. He had, of course, heard of the GLaDOS project, but he never, not once, thought it would have ended like this._

 _It was a disaster, a mystery with no answer. Smoke was still unfurling from the largest of many pits that had been torn in the earth where great spaces of the facility's roof had completely caved in. The entire place looked like a war zone, and it was no better inside; they rappelled down into its depths to find absolute devastation. It had been nearly impossible to imagine that anyone had survived._

 _Some of these people had been his friends. Some of them he'd known since they were kids. And there was the matter of Aperture itself—Cave's brainchild, his passion, his legend—completely destroyed._

 _It had taken hours to comb through what they could. They had almost given up hope, written off the possible survivor's location as being one of the many areas of the place they could not reach, when they found him._

 _It was the radio that had led them to him. It was the radio he had cleverly reprogrammed to emit the SOS signal. It had been locked away in a somewhat-preserved chamber, empty aside from a few scattered pieces of paper on the floor—a test subject's chart, singed and worthless—and a glass stasis pod, smeared with bloody handprints._

 _He was unconscious, even when they'd deactivated the pod and attempted to wake him. He'd been shot through his leg and had lost a lot of blood, but there was still a pulse, however faint. They'd extracted him carefully and brought him to a hospital on a stretcher. He was the lone survivor._

 _The man had lived, and Clifford had allowed him to stay at The Johnson House for as long as he liked. It was a long time before the man had been ready to talk about what had happened—many weeks, in which they learned that his name was Doug Rattmann, who had headed the Image Formatting Department at Aperture Science, and was a paranoid schizophrenic. It wasn't until after he'd got his prescription of Ziaprazidone and had had many bowls of steaming hot soup and had slept off the effects of his wound that he felt at home enough with Clifford to tell him the whole story of what had happened to Aperture Science._

 _It was devastating to hear, he could not have imagined what it was like to have to live through it. At the end of it all, the thing that had weighed most on his mind was the fate of the girl. The long sleep… or the long sleep, and the rest were dead anyways, he'd said. Doug had recalled that it was hopeless, that even if they did manage to wake the girl, her life support had been compromised and there would be lasting damage. She was better left asleep._

 _Doug Rattmann's story was over, GLaDOS was dead and the one who had vanquished her had fallen into an eternal coma; and Aperture Labs was no more._

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

"Are you sure it's the same girl?"

Doug sipped from the cup of hot coffee he held in his hands thoughtfully, staring out of the window and into the city below with dark, dank eyes that told of many years of suffering and pain. He'd had to live with the guilt that he could not save her for thirty years, and it had taken its toll on him—even with his medication, it was hard to function. He also took pills for depression and PTSD, but some days, it made no difference. Some days, he still found the world cold, cruel, and hard to face, and sometimes he swore that he could still hear Her voice, chiding him for leaving the girl to die.

Clifford had just informed him of the events of the previous night. He had said that all signs pointed to her still being alive, but deep down he knew that it was impossible. He'd seen what had happened to her. He remembered it as if it were just yesterday.

"No," said Clifford, empathy evident in every syllable as he could tell that his friend was hurting. "That's why I want you to come along, Doug, if you can. Someone needs to be there to identify her."

Doug inhaled a deep breath, and stared out of the window once more. "Okay. If it really is her," he said after a while, "I want to see her. I'll do it."

"Are you positive you're going to be all right?" asked Clifford. "You don't have to if you aren't ready, Doug."

"It's now or never," he said plainly, still not looking at Clifford. "If it's her, I need to know. It would mean… something. It would mean something big."

Clifford nodded in understanding. "Okay," he said, and helped Doug to his feet. "If you're sure."

Doug swallowed hard, and for the first time in many years, he looked determined. "I'm ready."

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Wheatley had become very bored while he waited. He chatted, drummed his fingers against the table, and kicked his long-fall-boots noisily against the chair legs.

Chell ignored him, sitting back in her own chair with her arms folded across her chest, and straight ahead.

"Pcht," Wheatley made a noise of disapproval before he leaned forward and waved his hand in front of Chell's face, clearly wanting attention. And boy, was he ever determined to get it.

She started and blinked rapidly. She'd been almost falling asleep, because she was so tired—they'd only slept for a couple of hours in the wheat field. She was on the verge of absolute exhaustion.

"Are you okay?" Wheatley asked, genuinely concerned. "You don't look so good."

Chell sighed, and leaned her head against the table. The coolness of the wood felt nice against her forehead.

"Um, there there," said Wheatley awkwardly, patting her on the back. "Is that what you humans do, to comfort each other? Seems a bit—well a bit _lame_ , if I'm honest, now that I've tried it. Is that really supposed to make you feel better, me patting you on the back? I mean, I haven't ever had anyone pat _me_ on the back, but speaking as the one doing the patting—I… hold on, what's this?"

Through the frosted window, three black shapes approached and the door swung open. Immediately, Chell's head snapped up off of the table in time to see three men enter the room—one, she recognized as Jammers, but the other two she had never seen before.

"How do you do," said the man who sat down in the middle. Chell knew in an instant that this man was important and well-educated; though he was very old, she could sense his sharpness. He was a man she would be hard pressed to successfully lie to.

On his left (her right), sat Jammers, who gave her a vague, encouraging smile; and on the other side, the third man slid weakly into his seat. He also stared at her, but unlike Jammers, he did not smile; instead, he fixed her with an expression like he could not believe what he was seeing. It was intense enough to almost make her feel self-conscious, and that was saying a lot.

Wheatley answered the old man in place of Chell. "Hi," he said nervously, before looking sideways at Chell for instructions. She did not look back at him.

"My name is Clifford," said the old man politely. "And this," he gestured to his right, "is an old friend of mine, Doug Rattmann," Doug Rattmann inclined his head the smallest amount, still not taking his eyes off of Chell, "And I do believe that you've already met this charming young gentleman, James Thatcher!"

Jammers nodded respectfully at the mention of his name.

"Now," said Clifford, settling down into business, "I think I would be correct to assume that the two of you have a lot of questions for me, and I, in turn, have a lot of questions for you. So I propose a deal—for every question you ask me, I get to ask one as well. We'll go all the way to twenty each. Does that seem fair?"

Wheatley was looking back and forth between Clifford and Chell, not sure what to do. For a minute, Chell did nothing except stare into the man's black eyes, and then slowly, she nodded.

"Are you crazy?" exclaimed Wheatley. "I thought you said—you told me—I thought we weren't supposed to tell them anything!"

Chell shrugged. Things had changed, and she had decided that the best thing to do would be to comply with what they wanted. After all, Clifford was right, and Chell was very curious—she had many burning questions she wanted to ask.

Clifford smiled at Chell, and then turned to Wheatley. "I think your friend has changed her mind," he said simply.

"I—well. I guess she has," he pouted. "Fine. All right, fine, we'll play along. Ask us your question first, then."

"All right."

Chell fidgeted slightly in her chair, feeling increasingly nervous. This was it—either she was going to be set free at the conclusion of this game, or she was going to be in even more trouble than she already was.

"First question—how did you two come to be in that wheat field?"

He had addressed Chell, who hesitated. She wanted to be the one to answer the questions, rather than Wheatley; she gestured frantically to her throat and then looked pleadingly at Wheatley to help her explain.

"Oh," he said, sitting up straighter. "Right, I forgot—she can't speak. Have you got something for her to write with, maybe?"

Jammers was sent to search the surrounding offices for a pen and notepad. It only took him a few minutes to return, and he passed these to Chell, who accepted them gratefully.

It had been a long time since she had written anything, and as a result, her writing was quite scribbly; she hoped that the old man would be able to read it. Wheatley leant curiously over her shoulder as she wrote, trying to read it.

Finally, she passed the paper across the table. Clifford's eyes zoomed across it, reading what she'd written:

'We came from Aperture Science.'

She wasn't about to give them any more information than she needed to. Chell wanted answers—and she was fully prepared to do what it took to get them.

"Fair enough," said Clifford politely. Chell was somewhat taken aback—she had expected him to be dissatisfied with her useless response, but if he was, he did not show it. "Ask away."

She thought hard for a second about how to phrase her question.

'How do you know about Aperture Science?'

When Clifford had read her question, he again surprised her; he had let out a deep, jolly laugh. "A fine question!" he complimented her. "And quite a long story."

And a long story it was. He started from the beginning; Chell listened to him recount how he'd moved to Lunar City when he was just a boy, and had lived in this very same house for most of his life. Part of the consequence of being as old as Clifford was, and having lived in the same city, in the same home for as long as he had, and being as brilliant as he was, was that there was just about no one who knew more about Lunar City and its surroundings than he did. For example, he had been there when the city had served hardly more purpose than a mine-town, in its very early days; he remembered the birth of many legends and folk-tales people still sometimes told to fend off boredom in the dingiest bars the city had to offer; and due to his nearly-eidetic memory, he could recall almost everyone he had ever met and how he had met them all. If you wanted to know something about someone or about the city's history, Clifford was the man you talked to.

As such, he was a valuable asset to be on friendly terms with for a lot of key residents of the city, like the mayor and council and police force and—especially—the Special Forces squadron that had been based in Lunar City for many, many years. He'd even lent out much of his property to them, for a large sum of money; he had grown very rich and powerful in his old age, but you'd be hard pressed to find a man anywhere who was less likely to let the power go to his head.

Clifford was kind, and there was hardly a soul he'd met who could say that they disliked him.

Except for one. His very own brother.

Well, half-brother, but he had never thought of him as such; to him, he was his brother, enough said the same city, andis gameie toto tell her story and then disappear to get some rest and something to eat.e extrem. But his brother had, to Clifford's dismay, tried to the best of his ability to cut him out of his life, some forty years before his death. Nonetheless, what he never knew was that Clifford had never stopped watching out for him.

He had always looked up to him as a child. That was one constant throughout his childhood and adolescent years. His brother had always been his shining star; that was, until Clifford learned the biggest secret he'd kept from him for many years.

It was true that his brother had been rather good at keeping secrets. Over the years, he'd discovered a lot of them, but he'd always written them off as being because he was so much younger; by nigh twenty years, there wasn't much they'd had in common. When Clifford had been just five years old, his brother had been twenty-five, young, brilliant, and full of ideas bigger than anyone could ever have imagined.

It was many years before Clifford had learned of his brother's secret. It started with the information that his brother had bought an abandoned salt mine on the outskirts of the city and had refurbished it as a blossoming science company. Cave's success had been a cause for celebration in The Johnson House. In those golden days, Cave had good reason to be proud of Aperture Science, and his family had good reason to be proud of him. He was dedicated and resourceful and astute, and when Clifford had turned of age, he was finally allowed to take a trip into the Laboratories and see what all the excitement was about.

What he had learned on that fateful trip had disturbed him deeply. What Cave had been doing was nothing short of committing murder, and he meant to advise his brother against it, but Cave had refused to hear any of it. They had had many late-night rows about it throughout the years, and Cave had stopped coming home to The Johnson House more and more, until one day, it went too far. Clifford did something he'd never forget.

He'd reported what Aperture Science had been doing to the media. It started a lawsuit, which started a war between them, and Cave left. The Johnson House became short one Johnson, and Cave never spoke to his brother again.

For years, Clifford had resided in the same residence, even long after his parent's death. He repurposed his dad's old Laboratory as a kind of monitoring-hub-slash-personal-laboratory. He kept tabs on the facility as best he could, and, as all of the land behind the house also belonged to Aperture, he tried his best to keep people away from the dangers of the facility and his brother.

He read about the fall of Aperture in the newspapers; guilt consumed him, for he knew that it was entirely his fault. Many times he'd wished to reconcile with his brother, but he never was able to pluck up the courage to do so, until the day he'd learned that his brother was dying.

After Cave's death, Aperture Science was not heard of for quite some time. The Laboratories were silent, and even the name of the place was forsaken. People forgot, and Clifford hired a crew of farmers to plant a wheat field above the Laboratories to help conceal them—for he knew that the place was still alive, and that down in its depths yet more dangerous tests were being performed by the scientists who never slept.

That was why, on that fateful day when he'd received an SOS and found the Laboratories utterly destroyed, and had learned from Doug Rattmann what was really happening behind the silence—he felt so very sad. He wished with all his heart that things had been different, and that his brother had listened to him those long years ago, so that hundreds of innocent people didn't have to die. In the end of all things, the Laboratories had not even survived, and his brainchild, the Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating system, had been a complete and total failure.

It broke his damned heart, and there wasn't a day that went by where he didn't wish that things had been different. The portrait of Cave Johnson that hung in the entrance wall was the last piece of his long-lost brother that he had left. It hurt him so much that he never got a chance to say goodbye, and that he was so very sorry for how things that become between them.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Chell had listened to all of this with her mouth slightly open, and when Clifford had finished, the room was silent for the longest period of time yet. Nobody moved or spoke for many minutes.

Her brain was full of what she had learned. So that was the answer to the puzzle, then. This man—Clifford—was named Mr. Johnson, too… for they were related. They were half-brothers.

The sincerity in Clifford's voice had driven any misgivings about her acquaintances from her mind. Anyone who could express such passion toward another human being was all right with her. And the fact that he had tried to do the right thing even though it meant risking one of the relationships he had valued most in his life—well, that made up for a lot. At least he had recognized what Aperture had been doing as wrong, and had tried to put an end to it.

Maybe there was some good left in the world after all.

Chell chewed her lip—she had made her decision. It was time to tell the truth. Slowly, she reached forward and grabbed the notepad. She wrote just two, clear words.

'You're wrong.'

Clifford, who had been examining his many rings with a very sad expression on his face, looked up. "What do you mean?" he asked, taken aback.

'She's not dead.'

"Who is 'she'?"

'GLaDOS.'

At this, the man called Doug spoke for the first time. "She's… she's _still alive_?"

'Yes.'

There was more silence.

"But how," asked Doug. "And how did you… escape?"

It was Chell's turn to tell her story. Because it was such a long one, and because there were parts of it that even she did not fully understand, she enlisted Wheatley's help with this. Together, they explained how, after Chell had 'murdered' GLaDOS, many years had passed where she was trapped in cryosleep; and how Wheatley had been the one to wake her up and together they had sought to escape from the facility, but in the process he'd accidentally reactivated Her; and (Chell had to explain this part, because Wheatley would not speak of it) about how GLaDOS had become so corrupt that she needed to be replaced and that they had used Wheatley to accomplish this, who had instantaneously become corrupted by the mainframe.

At this point, Clifford had stopped them by raising his hand. "Just one moment," he said politely, and addressed Wheatley. "Do you mean to say, that you did not always occupy this body, and once upon a time, you were a robot as well?"

Wheatley nodded, and Jammers let out a low whistle. "This is some next level stuff," he whispered under his breath.

"Incredible," said Clifford with like sentiments. "Continue."

Chell had to be the one to explain what had happened to them in the depths of the facility, for Wheatley had not been there. She explained how her and GLaDOS, who had taken the form of a potato, had together learned the history of Aperture Science and had somehow bonded over it. She told them about how GLaDOS had—or so she had guessed—realized that her base conscience had been taken from the soul of a human—a human named Caroline, whom Cave had named as his successor.

"Ah yes," said Clifford at this point. "Yes, I remember her. A fine woman."

Next, it was Wheatley's turn to explain about how he had succumbed to the itch and had tried to kill them, and nearly killed them all in the process. He stared at his knees while he spoke, unable to meet anyone's eye.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking. "Sincerely. It was terrible, what I did."

At this point, he could not go on, so Chell finished it off by recounting how she'd finally beaten him with the help of GLaDOS and had very nearly sent him to space, having saved him at the last second, and how GLaDOS had managed to regain control of the facility and had promptly deleted Caroline. And then, finally, she told them about how she and Wheatley had come to a truce when they'd realized that, without each other's help, there was no way they'd ever beat GLaDOS.

'And when Wheatley had gotten injured,' Chell wrote, 'and we'd both gotten captured by her, we had to confront her… and I realized that all she had wanted for a long time was just to be left alone. She was tired of humans and how they always made everything her business and she was frustrated because no matter what she did, she never felt like it was enough, because that's how they programmed her to be. It took a long time before I ever looked at the world from her perspective, but when I did, we had this moment, like we finally understood each other, and she let me go. And for good measure, she saved Wheatley too, because she didn't want anything more to do with him either. She just wanted everyone to leave, so she fixed him, and we left.'

"And that's how we ended up in the wheat field," Wheatley finished lamely.

"I see," said Clifford, sounding as though he hadn't quite made up his mind what he thought of all of this yet. "You two have been through quite the fight."

"You could say so," said Wheatley. "I feel like I could sleep for _weeks_."

"And you shall," said Clifford with his hugest smile yet. "Jammers, would you tell Felix to set these two with a bedroom each? And make something for lunch? Our adventurers must be extremely tired and hungry."

Wheatley's eyes were like saucers. "Y-you mean… we can _go_? Just like _that_?"

"Kind of," said Clifford pleasantly. "It's my wish that you stay with me for the next few days, just so that I can be sure of your safety, but after that, you may go. I'm very thankful the two of you had the courage to share your story with me, and as such, I will gladly repay you by allowing you to rest a while in my house. I can make sure that while you are here, no harm will come to either of you. This is the safest house you'll find in the state of Michigan."

Wheatley looked disheartened at first, but after listening to what Clifford had to say, he seemed reassured.

Chell, Wheatley, and Jammers all made to get to their feet.

"One moment," called Clifford before they could reach the door. "It's my wish that the young lady stays with me for just a little longer. That is, if it's all right with you, Miss."

Wheatley looked questioningly at Chell, but she rolled her eyes and waved at him to go on without her. Sitting back down at the table, she sighed in resignation. She'd been expecting as much—it all seemed too easy, that she should be able to tell her story and then disappear to get some rest and something to eat.

"I know you are exhausted and famished," said Clifford apologetically, "But I promise you, this will be well worth your time."

Boy, did she ever hope he was right.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	7. A Rat's Tale

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Seven: A Rat's Tale**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Chell drummed the pen she was holding in her hand against the table with impatience. Clifford had asked her to wait in the room while both he and Doug Rattmann stepped outside for a moment. The second they had left the room, Chell pressed her hands against her face, relishing the cool darkness in contrast to the brightly lit room. The start of another headache was forming behind her eyes and, for the umpteenth time, she wished that she had been allowed to leave with Wheatley.

The only thing that kept her from fully feeling the effects of just how exhausted she was was to focus on what was happening in the present. Thankfully, her situation was interesting enough to distract her a little bit, but it was hard to focus—her eyes itched, her reaction time was slowed, and her brain felt heavy and water-logged. All the new information she'd gotten recently did not help matters, and she felt as though part of it was unable to be fully absorbed—perhaps, after a good night's sleep, she'd feel better. But right now, all Chell wanted was for it to be over.

Clifford and his comrade, Doug, re-entered the room and she sat up straight in her chair, not wanting to give away how horrible she felt. Clifford flashed her another brief smile, but Doug just stared.

It was really beginning to creep her out. He was always staring at her, and there was something about him that drew her eyes to him as well—at first, she'd thought that it had been his rather strange appearance, but no, this was not it. It was something inside of him. It was nothing more substantial than an aura. She knew just by looking at him that he had been through a lot, and had perhaps seen as many nightmarish things as Chell had.

It was like… it was like he had been scarred, too.

"Now, Miss," said Clifford, breaking through Chell's revere. "Miss Chell, I believe your name is?"

It was amazing that just one sentence could have such an effect on her.

It acted like a stimulant in her brain, clearing away some of the exhaustion. She stared at him. Yes, that had been her name, once upon a time. Chell. Her name had been Chell.

To hear it aloud… it felt like she had just rediscovered a long forgotten piece of herself. She had been asked for her name before this of course, but as she had been so on guard at the time, the only thing that she had considered was self-preservation—meaning that she was not about to tell strangers what her name was unless she trusted them enough to do so. If she had really stopped to think about it, however, she would have noticed that it was very difficult for her to remember her own name—it was _there_ , somewhere inside of her, but it had been so long since she'd last tried to recall it that she would find it difficult to do so indeed.

But when she heard it spoken aloud, she knew immediately that it belonged to her. She reached out with a trembling hand and wrote clumsily on the notepad in front of her.

'How do you know my name?'

Clifford and Doug Rattmann exchanged a look. "Well, Chell," said Clifford hesitantly. "There is one more story you have to hear today, before you get some rest. But I think it's a story that would be better told by someone who could recount it first-hand."

He looked at Doug, and so did Chell. Doug glanced back at Clifford and sighed. "You are of course right," he said, making eye-contact with Chell next. "But it is a long story, and it happened a long time ago, and there were parts of it where my mind was not in a state that is easy for me to remember or reflect on. So bear with me… and if you should find in the end that there is a question I have not answered, please ask me it."

Chell nodded to show that she understood.

"I think first I should explain some things. For one, I used to be an employee at Aperture. I worked there when I … when it happened. And secondly, not long after I was hired, I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia."

At this point, Chell felt a pang for the poor man. She was perhaps the only person alive who could sympathize with being trapped inside of a building with a murderous AI who was trying to kill you, for she knew that he must have meant that he had been there when GLaDOS had taken over the facility. And to add schizophrenia to the mix… how on earth had he managed to escape?

"I think I would be right to say that you don't recognize me," Doug continued seriously. "Which I understand, but it's important for you to know that we have actually met before. You were also an employee of Aperture Science."

This was a piece of information she had not at all expected. She gaped at him. 'Are you sure?' she wrote down on the notepad.

"Absolutely."

And then, he embarked on the story of how they had met; Chell barely heard the beginning, for her head was spinning with surprise. _Her_? An employee of Aperture Science? She knew that the cryosleep had damaged some of her short-term memory. She had never been able to remember exactly how she had ended up in long term relaxation after she had defeated GLaDOS, nor could she remember why she was in there in the first place. It had never bothered her that much, because she remembered how to walk, even if she did not remember how to talk, or why she was stuck inside of a facility with an AI who was trying to kill her. She had been too focused on what was happening, and trying to survive for long enough to escape.

But _Aperture Science_? That was something else. That was something important that she could not remember _._ Had her memory really been that damaged? She tried to relax and listen to Doug's story, but it was hard when she was faced with proof that something was indeed wrong with her. Why couldn't she remember any of it?

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 _It was 1996, and it was about as typical a morning as you would ever see at the Laboratories. The parking lot above them was filled with the vehicles of employees and test subjects alike, although if someone had cared enough to look closely, they might have noticed that some of the aforementioned vehicles were rather dusty. In fact, some of them had expired insurance and spots of rust starting to show; a tell-tale sign that their owners had long since vanished into the depths of the facility._

 _On this particular August morning, a new car was added to the mix, belonging to one miss Chell, last name not important, who parked beside a beat-up, rusted old Chevy and then ventured down into her first day of work. Doug Rattmann, of course, did not know of this until around lunchtime, when he'd glimpsed the new recruit taking the elevator up from the testing wing._

 _He was not normally one to seek company from others at work; preferring to operate alone, he generally ate lunch in his office. But the sight of the girl had interested him, because it had been a long time since Aperture had hired anyone new, and he knew that all the allotted positions on the GLaDOS team had already been filled._

 _And so, on that fateful afternoon he'd decided to follow Henry into the lunch room. "Hey Henry," he'd tried meekly to get the bald man's attention, and when it did not work he repeated himself. "_ Henry _."_

 _"_ _What?" said Henry in annoyance, not even looking at Doug. "Something you need?"_

 _He looked around at all the other employees, some of whom were lined up at the cafeteria or had already sat down. Doug could see the group that Henry usually sat with waiting for him._

 _"_ _Yes, sorry," he said shyly, not making eye contact. "I just… wanted to know… I was wondering if you could tell me who that new girl is."_

 _"_ _Why?" asked Henry, suspicious._

 _"_ _No reason. I just didn't think we needed to hire anyone else, not with the GLaDOS project somewhat finished."_

 _This explanation did not satisfy Henry, but he decided to tell him about her nonetheless. "Her name is Chell, and she was hired to design tests or something, I don't know. No idea why, we won't need her once we get this thing—GLaDOS, Caroline, whatever—to stop trying to kill us. That's all I know about her, but if you want to know more, you can ask her. She's sitting right over there."_

 _Henry gestured to the very corner of the cafeteria, at a secluded table where Chell sat alone, eating a lunch that consisted of a sandwich._

 _"_ _Thanks," Doug said awkwardly, still watching Chell._

 _"_ _No problem."_

 _With that, Henry left. Doug had originally been planning to go straight back up to his office after he'd spoken with Henry (he had the habit of working through lunch while he ate at his desk, it helped to pass the time), but the sight of her sitting so alone reminded him of himself, and then he started feeling bad for her._

 _She looked like a nice girl. There was no reason for her to be sitting alone. She was not like him._

 _There was nothing for it… he had to go talk to her. It wasn't something he felt really comfortable with, for he found it hard to trust strangers even with his meds, but he approached her table nonetheless and asked if he could sit down._

 _She nodded, and he sat. He waited for her to say something. All she did was look at him, blink, and then immediately went back to her sandwich._

 _Doug squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to stare at her, but feeling unsure of what else he should look at. He very much wished that she was a little more talkative—he wasn't usually one to sit down to have lunch with people he'd never talked to before, and he certainly wasn't one to start conversations with them._

 _But right now, he had little choice._

 _"_ _So, um…" he started uncomfortably, noticing her look at him again and then immediately turn back to her sandwich. "It's your first day here, right? Well, welcome, I guess."_

 _She did not reply._

 _Doug swallowed hard, and then tried again. "Sorry," he apologized, feeling stupid. "If you don't want to be bothered, I'll go—"_

 _"_ _No."_

 _If he hadn't seen her lips move, he would never have believed it. Even so, he was halfway out of his chair before his brain had caught up to his ears and he sat back down. "Really?" he said, surprised. "You want me to stay?"_

 _Chell stared for a moment, and then blinked. "Yes."_

 _"_ _Okay."_

 _Then she was silent again. How frustrating, he thought—this was exactly why he didn't like talking to people. He was on medication for his schizophrenia, but it was still difficult sometimes to deal with others. Especially people who gave off the vibe that they didn't exactly like him, like she was doing right now._

 _Finally, Chell said something. "What do you do here," she asked._

 _"_ _I'm in charge of image formatting. It's not really exciting, but excitement isn't exactly my cup of tea."_

 _He glanced over to the table where Henry and the rest of the GLaDOS engineers sat. They were all laughing loudly at a joke that Henry had just told._

 _Chell watched him with interest, forgetting about her sandwich. "You wish you were more like them, don't you," she said, still staring with those big, dark eyes._

 _It had to be the most uncomfortable thing anybody had ever said to him. He shifted nervously in his chair, twisting his hands. "I don't know… I guess so. You have to be pretty brave to want to work on GLaDOS. Who wouldn't wish they were brave?"_

 _She bit her lip thoughtfully. "You could be brave," she said. "Anybody could be brave. It's easy. All you have to do is not care about anybody else. You just have to think about yourself."_

 _"_ _It's not that simple," argued Doug._

 _"_ _Yes, it is."_

 _He was starting to really wish that he'd just given up and decided to have lunch in his office instead._

 _"_ _Oh, stop being miserable. You're right…" she told him. "It's not that easy. I was lying. Being selfish is easy, but being brave is not."_

 _Doug blinked._

 _She took a bite of her sandwich, and looked at him thoughtfully. "You're a pretty smart guy, you know that? You're not reckless or anything. You don't go looking for trouble much, do you."_

 _He shook his head. "I avoid trouble. But doing so doesn't make me smart. You're smart, though," he added as an afterthought._

 _"_ _Nah. Sure, I'm not reckless either, unless I have to be. I just like a challenge. I could have taken a slot on the GLaDOS team, but I don't go looking for trouble, I don't need to. Trouble usually finds me."_

 _Doug had to smile at that. "Stay away from GLaDOS, and you'll be fine," he said._

 _Chell crammed the last piece of her sandwich into her mouth and started to get up. "I'll keep that in mind," she said. "I gotta go. I'm working down in the testing wing. I'm in charge of test chamber design, at least until GLaDOS loses her attitude problem."_

 _"_ _So, for forever, then," he half-joked._

 _She smiled back sadly. "Very funny. I'll see you around, Mr. …?"_

 _"_ _Rattmann. But call me Doug."_

 _"_ _Doug, then."_

 _They shook hands, and she scrambled out of the cafeteria, slinging a bag overflowing with paper blueprints and files over her shoulder as she went. He watched her go, feeling somewhat confused and sad—he wasn't sure how much he liked her. She made him think deeply about things._

 _For the rest of the allotted hour, he sat in the corner and listened to Henry and the others' conversation and laughter. It was so easy for them. They all connected on some level that Doug couldn't fully understand. That was when he realized why he felt so sad—it wasn't because he was envious of the relationships they had with each other. It was because, for the first time since he'd set foot inside of the facility, he'd felt as though he'd just connected with someone, too, and now they were gone, and he was alone again._

 _He hoped that he'd see her around again._

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 _He did not catch a glimpse of Chell in the following week, but he thought about her a lot. She had probably been busy, as was Doug. The Laboratories had been planning an important experiment they'd named Bring Your Cat To Work Day, as per Henry; he'd gotten the idea from GLaDOS. If he was honest, he did not like the idea one bit, especially not because it involved neurotoxin; however, it was not his place to reject it, so he kept quiet and did what he was asked to do._

 _The experiment required that all personnel bring their cat to work to be 'tested'—but as Doug did not own a cat, he found himself with literally no responsibility that afternoon. He refused to have any part in it, and instead of going down and watching, he'd locked himself alone in his office._

 _That was when everything had gone so terribly wrong._

 _Her voice had come over the P.A. system; at first, he'd thought he'd forgotten to take his meds. It couldn't be happening today, not now. He'd been dreading this— GLaDOS was attempting to take over the facility._

 _He was not prepared. He only had two pills left on him, stowed away in his locker, and that was only a strong enough dose for the afternoon. With trembling hands he'd dashed around his office, trying to organize his thoughts, to collect himself and hide what he didn't want Her to see._

 _But he was too late, and She'd locked all the doors, and he knew, because he'd watched them build Her, that there were only certain places left that She could not see. He ran, and kept to the shadows, and scoured the bowels of the facility for anything, anything that might have been useful._

 _Time was running out. Distantly, he was aware that anyone who had avoided the neurotoxin, anyone who had not been within the central chamber at the time, were now fugitives. They were trapped like rats in a maze, and ever so often, She'd announce that one of their number had reached a Dead End in the maze and had been queued to test. She kept them in extended relaxation while they waited._

 _One by one, She picked them off. Days passed, and then weeks. All Doug had for comfort were a few cans of beans, some paintbrushes, and the Cube he'd stolen from under Her nose. He heard things, voices that were not there. He told himself, it was a dream, it was all a dream, it had to be a bad dream that he would one day wake up from._

 _Tell me not in binary numbers  
life is but a madman's dream_

 _It was a battle between them. She taunted him, and he scurried through her clutches, avoiding her again and again._

 _"_ _Ah, delusions of persecution, pathological paranoia; it's all right here in your file. Have you refilled your prescription lately?"_

 _"_ Bite me _."_

 _He'd never let Her win._

 _It was because of Her, that he remembered. The Files! He'd never forgotten about Chell. She was the only one who stood a chance at defeating Her. She had designed the tests, after all. He modified the test subject order. Chell [redacted]was next in line to be tested._

 _It has to be her_

 _He waited…  
waited…  
waited…_

 _"_ _Target acquired." He took the last pills. For the end times._

 _STOP WATCHING_

 _'_ _Where is the girl now?' the cube asked._

 _'_ _On her way to the final chamber.'_

 _Superstition, perceiving inanimate objects as alive, and hallucinations._

 _I'm not hallucinating. YOU are.  
The Companion Cube would never desert me. Dessert. So long…  
Cake. Ha ha Cake. A Lie.  
The Companion Cube would never lie to me._

 _NEVER_

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Chell was absolutely astounded.

There were so many things she wanted to know—so many _questions_ she wanted to ask. It was amazing that she managed to keep still while Doug finished his tale. As he more or less finished, Chell pulled the notebook back in front of her and scribbled away.

"So, you know what happened next," said Doug. "The ultimate systems crash. You killed her. I had been near the central chamber at the time, and when I saw that you were no longer inside of it, I headed for the exit to meet you outside. Only… something got to you before I could."

She looked up. Yes, she remembered that part, though it was very hazy. _Sssssssshhhhkkkkk…_ whatever it was, it had grabbed onto her leg and pulled her back inside. The next thing she knew, the world had gone black, and then she was waking up to the sound of Wheatley's voice…

"The medicine started to work," he said, his eyes growing shadowy as he remembered the death of the Cube. "I followed the party escort bot to the relaxation center. They'd already put you back into long-term relaxation. I tried to get up to cryo-control… your chamber had been knocked offline by the explosion, as had everyone else's. But the Cube, it… I was alone."

His voice broke suddenly, and Chell felt deeply sorry for the man. He had been so, so brave, and it made her ache to hug him, to make some small part of the nightmare go away. Because she knew, now, that she had been right, and that they had shared the same bad dream.

"I got shot," he said loudly, breathing hard. "I… the turrets… I was alone. They shot my leg, and then I don't remember what happened… until the Cube was back. I crawled… it hurt so much… but I had to save you…"

He looked as though he wanted to cry, and her heart ached deeply, too. She was so very sorry…

"It told me what to do. I patched your chamber into the reserve grid, but there was no wake up date. As far as I knew… I'd killed you. Forgive me."

He looked up at her, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

For a while, they just stared at each other. Doug was trying to regain his self-control, and Chell was trying to decide what to do. Both of them had quite forgotten about Clifford until he reached around and patted Doug on the back.

"There, there," he said calmly.

Chell pushed her notepad toward Doug. 'I forgive you,' it said. 'But what happened next? How did you escape?'

He finished telling her about how he'd reprogrammed one of the radios to emit an SOS signal, and climbed into a stasis pod and fell asleep. He told her about Clifford's timely rescue and about how he had brought him back here and offered to let him stay with him for as long as he'd like, and how the two of them had become great friends since.

And with that, Doug's tale had ended. "Any questions?" he asked finally.

'Why don't I remember any of this?' she'd already written.

Doug looked at her sadly. "I'm not positive. But I would guess that it has to do with how long you were in stasis for."

She bit her lip. It was not the answer she wanted, but she knew that it made sense all the same. She gestured to the paper again so that Doug would read her next question. 'Could I really speak?' she asked. 'Why can't I now?'

"Yes," he answered. "But as to why you cannot any longer, I don't know for sure. My guess is that, either when you inhaled the neurotoxin, it damaged your vocal cords—or, like the memory loss, it happened while in stasis."

She almost rolled her eyes. Not again with the brain damage! She wasn't _brain damaged_ , she was just a little bit… she had been through a lot, and that was all!

Doug continued to read the questions Chell had written on the paper and answer them. "To answer your next one, I am now fifty-two years old. Which means that, if I'm not mistaken, you are about fifty-five, give or take a few years."

She gaped at him.

Clifford could not help but laugh at this. "Forty-five! Really!" he chortled. "I must say, you are looking quite young for forty-five. It makes me feel very old indeed to hear that."

"That would be another, less disastrous, effect of long-term relaxation. It slows growth and metabolic rate to an almost nonexistent pace." He smiled. "Physiologically, you are not much older than thirty."

Well, at least not all of the effects were bad, she guessed.

Doug continued to look over Chell's notes. "And I see here you've asked about the Intelligence Dampening Sphere, or, Wheatley, as you know him… I am not certain as to why he was in the relaxation vault at all, but I do have a hypothesis. I think, when GLaDOS first took over, and all of us had been trapped like rats, that one of the other scientists came across the ID Sphere. I think that they instructed him to keep watch over the test subjects in cryosleep, because if you remember, that was where GLaDOS was taking each of us when we were caught, until she needed us for testing."

Chell nodded in agreement. It made sense.

"But if you remember right—very true to his real name—he was not a very good overseer for the relaxation vault. If I had not been there, you would all have died, but in his defense, he did manage to wake you up and help you escape."

'And then try to kill me,' she wrote in reply, but she was smiling.

"I'm very surprised that he didn't manage to kill all of you, either on purpose or otherwise."

'He said that he had tried to escape with five people before he found me...'

Doug thought about this for a moment. "He was dead set on escaping then, was he? It was lucky he found you."

Chell nodded again.

"Well, it had been thirty years, I suppose, and that was probably long enough to run into some reactor core maintenance issues. I don't blame him for wanting to get out of there."

'You're telling me.'

At this point, Chell stifled a huge yawn, and pushed the pen and paper away from her. Her curiosity had been thoroughly satisfied, and she felt thoroughly ready for bed.

Clifford caught on immediately. "Though I'm sure that, before long, you will again be bursting with a thousand questions you haven't yet thought of, miss Chell," he said, "But I think it's about time we let you rest. I think Doug has told his story to the best of his ability," he nodded respectfully at Doug, "and I have told you mine. I thank you again for everything you have shared with us. I'll lead you upstairs now, if you're ready, and you can have something quick to eat, and then get some sleep…"

The two men got up and moved to the doorway. She meant to follow Clifford, but she got a sudden idea, and tapped Doug on the back.

He turned to her, and before he could move, Chell had wrapped her arms around his body in a tight hug. She tried to put as much emotion into it as she could. _Thank you for saving my life,_ she wanted to say.

Somehow, the point seemed to get across. He gently wrapped his arms around her, too, and she felt his warm breath on her ear as whispered in it.

"You're welcome, Chell."

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	8. A Warm Welcome

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Eight: A Warm Welcome**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

The subway was full of early-morning commuters. Everywhere, hands were full of cups of coffee, cell phones, and copies of the Lunar City Times emblazoned with the headline 'AI-Brighter Future: Mayor Reveals Ten-Year Plan Set To Revolutionize'. The racing, metallic ring of the subway's tracks was loud even over the muffled treble emitted from someone's ear buds that were turned up too loud, and the wheezy coughing of several chain-smokers. One or two of the passengers were talking on their phones, their conversations kept shallow and distant for fear of being overheard—and a ragged-looking man at the back was taking swigs from a strong-smelling, amber liquid from inside of a big glass bottle.

Suddenly, a blazing ringtone belonging to a young woman seated by the window near the end of the train went off loudly. Her dark complexion was filthy with grit and dust and her hair was mussed with sweat and dirt. Her eyes were sunken with tiredness but beneath all of this she had a kind, good-natured, but very determined look about her. Unlike most of the passengers, she was not fresh from her morning shower and professionally clad; she was doing night-shift tunnel work these days, and tunnel workers worked in the dirt and foul smells and grime. It was no place for a suit and tie.

She didn't recognize the number. "Hello?" she answered, trying to keep her voice quiet to attract as few eavesdroppers as she could.

Her companion seated beside her inclined his head slightly, trying to listen, but she didn't seem to mind. Apparently he was the only person on the subway who was allowed to listen in. He looked to be only a few years younger than her, although that might have been because he was quite short in stature despite his decent build. He also had dark skin and eyes that greatly resembled his friend—for the two were siblings, similar in appearance but opposite in sex and personality. While she was quite bubbly and friendly, he was moody and surly—but the one thing they had in common was their unconditional love for each other.

"Good morning, Ann," said the voice on the phone. "It's been ages since we last spoke."

The woman's expression changed immediately. Her face split into a wide grin for she had recognized the voice as belonging to a very old friend.

"Who is calling?" asked the boy, who had retained more of his heavy Portuguese accent than his sister, who had adopted an urban drawl from how long she'd lived and worked in the bowels of the city.

" _Clifford_!" exclaimed Ann into the phone. "I thought ya'd forgotten about me, it's been saaach a long time, ya'know. How ya been, darlaang?"

"Good, good. And you?"

"Oh, we been excellent, working graveyard shift, building tha subway uptown, working maintenance. And Jose is here, too."

"Ah! As I suspected. Perfect. Listen, I know it has been a long time…"

"Too long," she interrupted.

"Too long, yes. But say, I could use you and your brother's excellent knowledge and expertise with something that has come to light. There is a slight problem…"

Ann listened carefully as Clifford explained the situation at hand. Potential danger loomed in the near future, and that was exactly what she loved about it. It had been forever since Clifford had given her a job, and dangerous jobs were her favorite kind. Working in tunnel maintenance was fun, but it wasn't a challenge. It wasn't a _thrill._ She missed the old days back when she used to be a part of something much bigger.

"So, in short," Clifford finished his story, "I'm assembling a team, just in case things do go awry. I'd be honored if you would join us."

"I've missed ya, Clifford," she said, her voice full of fond nostalgia. "'Course Jose and I will be there, you don't even have to ask. It'll be just like old times."

"The reunion party is tonight at six o'clock. And if everything goes correctly, I think you will be seeing a lot of recognizable faces. Be sure to pack for a few days, okay?"

"Sure thang, 'Cliff. I can't wait!"

They bid each other a cheerful goodbye, and Ann turned to her brother. "That was Clifford, on tha phone," she told him. "He wants us to come to a party he's havin' tonight! It sounded like they need help. They gonna need our help with somethin' big."

"Zomefing big?" Jose frowned. "What kind of fing?"

"I danno. But whatever it is, we're all gonna meet at his house. Sounds like a'latta tha old gang'll be there."

And with that, it was decided; the two of them would go home to catch a few hours of rest, and then make their way over to old Clifford's house.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

In various other locations around the city that morning, the cell phones of various VIPs and engineers alike buzzed, rang, beeped, and vibrated as the invitations were sent out; all were answered promptly and the majority with affirmatives. High in the top of the highest tower, the Mayor of the sprawling city sat, having just confirmed his own invitation.

The two had been communicating quite a lot within the past week. One day, Clifford had simply called him up out of the blue. At first, he had been somewhat taken aback to hear from his old friend—it had been many years since they'd last spoken.

Clifford had not said much during that first phone call; he'd simply told him that his laboratory was receiving strange signals originating from some place called Aperture Science. This did not mean much to Mayor Jacobs at first, so Clifford had had to explain further about the nature of the signals, and what he said had eventually caught Jacobs's interest.

The conversation in question had concluded with a warning. At first, Mayor Jacobs had not heeded this warning, and had ignored the situation for the start of the week. It wasn't until his own crew had alerted him to a plausible problem did he decide to take his advice and inspect further.

Clifford had been correct. He had called him back up in an instant, and the two had talked for a very long time, discussing everything that had happened within the past week on both men's ends and what, together, it all meant. It was a deeper conversation than they'd had together in years, and indeed it may have been the closest they'd been since they'd had a falling out fifteen years ago.

Mayor Jacobs sipped at the last cold dregs of coffee in his mug, and looked out through the high window over his city and heaved a troubled sigh. Back in those days, artificial intelligence was the way of the future. Everybody knew it, because he'd been foolish enough to let the media in on The Plan as soon as it had existed—it had been his idea. He'd gathered up a group of the smartest, strongest, most skilled people he knew, and they'd set to work—this was the birth of The Coalition, a union between the city's government, military, and the very best of its working class. He envisioned a future where computers not only held the answers to everything, but where they were physically capable of assisting humans in their day-to-day lives.

He didn't just want an AI—he wanted robots. But if he wanted robots, he would need a mainframe capable of controlling enough robots to serve the city. It needed to be strong, powerful and fast, and impervious to malignant attacks. He didn't just need a mainframe—he needed a supercomputer.

At first, The Coalition had operated smoothly. The finest architects had laid out the plans for the great buildings that would function as a power source, a brain, broadcasting station, etcetera… and he had the best engineers on the market build it. It was perfect. All that was needed was the supercomputer itself.

That was where things started to get difficult. He had pressured Clifford, perhaps a little too much, for he knew that he had access to a perfectly good supercomputer, and for reasons Mayor Jacobs did not understand, he had outright refused to help him acquire the machine. They had quite a terrible argument after that, and Clifford swore that he would never let him or his men anywhere near Aperture Science again, and he left The Coalition.

Initially, Mayor Jacobs had meant to go behind his back and break into the Laboratories anyways. He still remembered how shocked and frustrated he was when he realized that Cave Johnson's will had stated that the company be left to a woman named Caroline, who, in turn, had left it to Clifford. He was not sure if Clifford had ever found out about this (he doubted that the paper trail would have interested him much) or if he had just informally assumed ownership of the wheat field and the Laboratories. But, it didn't really matter either way.

Clifford was the sole heir of Aperture Science.

That posed a problem for the mayor; he could not legally acquire anything from the facility without Mr. Johnson's permission and, well, _that_ certainly was out the window.

And so, for many years The Coalition operated on its own, and began to build him his towers and the basis of his supercomputer. They hit snag after snag; until one day, he broke down and tried visiting Clifford. He'd grudgingly let him in, and they'd ended up coming to an agreement; he was allowed to send his men into Aperture Science to collect anything they could find that was useful, but only with Clifford's explicit supervision, and they were not to remove anything he told them not to remove.

Mayor Jacobs' men had done just that under Clifford's watchful eye. They had brought back many fine pieces of technology that had served as the basis of his build. Progress crept along at a snail's pace it felt like, but with each passing day they got closer and closer to their goal, and less and less personnel were needed as part of the project until finally, only a crew of his closest and most brilliant comrades remained.

And now, the Mayor was faced with yet another snag, this one perhaps the biggest one of them all. But the good news was that, for the first time in roughly ten years, the key personnel of the original Coalition were about to reunite.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

The pasta and orange juice that Chell had for dinner that night tasted better than anything she'd ever tasted in her entire life. The sauce was thick and creamy and the chicken was fresh and tender—not that she'd had much to compare it with. She ate at the big oak table in the dining room that was located toward the front of the house; and when she'd finished, she'd been shown upstairs by a nicely-dressed man named Felix who introduced himself as something called a butler.

Her room was nothing too fancy, but it was comfortable. The bedstead stood in the middle of it beside a small nightstand, and she was sure that when she lied down in bed she'd have an excellent view of the tallest of the tall buildings in the city below through the small window. Under the window there was a cute writing desk, with a single vase of flowers upon it. She thought the flowers might have been lilacs.

The first thing she'd done was not fall asleep, but have a shower. It had taken a minute—in which freezing cold water poured over her, making her skin scream like it was on fire—before she had figured out how to work the tap, and then adjusted the temperature to one she'd liked.

Then, smelling nice and nearly tripping over her own feet with exhaustion, she'd fallen into bed and slept for a good ten to eleven hours.

The sleep was so good that waking up felt almost impossible. She must have dozed on and off for a good fifteen minutes before she finally convinced herself to get out of bed. It felt so nice, the soft bed and the warm, fresh linens and the big comfy pillows beneath her head—Aperture had had none of these things. When she finally did open her eyes, the first thing she saw was the window, and the pale grey, morning sky through it. It was a cloudy but crisp kind of day that hinted of coming fall.

On the desk was her freshly washed jumpsuit and tank top. She guessed that someone must have come in during the night and taken it and washed it for her, probably Felix. She hastily pulled off the night gown Clifford had supplied for her and got dressed.

When she made her way downstairs, the first thing she saw was Wheatley, who was in the sitting room with two younger, identical boys whom she had never seen before. All three of them were deeply immersed in some kind of space-age video game, but as Chell entered the room, Wheatley leapt up off the couch.

"You're awake!"

Immediately he lunged at her, tripping over his own feet. Before she could take even two steps forward, she had been entangled by his many limbs in a colossal hug.

"Slept well, did you?" he said finally as he broke away. "Good. Excellent. Smashing. Now, there's someone I'd like you to meet, if you please."

His excitement was infectious. Chell couldn't help but grin as he led her to the front of the couch and introduced her to the two boys. "You're not gonna believe this, but these are _actually two completely different people._ Who look the same. Exactly the same. I know, I know, I wouldn't believe it either," he said, misreading Chell's look of amusement for one of confusion.

"I'm Brayden," said the boy closest to her, jumping up from the couch and shaking her hand a mere millisecond before his twin did the same. "And I'm Bradley."

The two were identical; aged about nine years old, they both had the same straight, sandy-blonde hair and bangs, brilliantly blue eyes, and adorably pale freckled faces.

"Mister Wheatley says your name is Chell," said Brayden politely. "He's been waiting for you. We saved you a seat. Look." He gestured toward the heavily-pillow-laden couch, to a space near the end where Wheatley was sitting. "Do you want to play with us?"

"Oh, oh oh, _yeeees_ ," said Wheatley excitedly. "Yes, she does, right Chell? Come on, come on, I'll even let you use the blue controller."

She was saved having to answer by Clifford, who poked his head into the room a second later. "Would you mind if I had a word with you?" he asked, and she shrugged apologetically at Wheatley and the twins.

"I just wanted to make sure you are doing okay, after yesterday," he said, his face full of concern as they entered the hall. "That was some ordeal you had to recount."

She thought it might have been something like this. It was true that parts of it had been difficult to talk about, and that parts of it had been difficult to hear—but none of it had been that difficult compared with actually going through it.

That was the silver lining, she was beginning to realize. Whatever the worst was that this new world could throw at her, she'd probably already faced worse back in Aperture.

"Did you have a good sleep last night, at least?"

She nodded, making a mental note to thank Clifford as soon as she was able to. She was actually sincerely grateful—it had been so nice to be able to rest somewhere where she knew that she was safe, for once.

Clifford was watching her closely. "There is one thing I wanted to tell you," he said, smiling excitedly. "Tonight, I have invited some very old, dear friends over for a party. You and Wheatley will be welcome to join us, of course, but you should know one thing… the celebration will be a reunion of sorts, but the reason behind the reunion is a little bit dark, I'm afraid."

Chell's interest was piqued. A party? She had never been to one. Or, not that she knew of, at least. Had Aperture had them, when she worked there? She supposed she must have been to one, at some point. Surely they had had Christmas parties. But why on earth would the reasoning behind a party be dark, she wondered?

Before she could think of how to ask what was on her mind, however, one of the many guests of the house went rushing past them with his arms full of decorations and Clifford held his arm out to stop him. "Hold on a second, Marcus, I want to go over the plans for tonight with you…"

He walked away, leaving Chell alone in the hall with nothing but the sounds of Wheatley's space game, still coming from the sitting room.

"I didn't leave the blue one for you for nothing, you know!" Wheatley's voice floated out toward her, clearly affronted.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

As the afternoon wore on, the atmosphere inside of the grand house became more and more infectiously cheerful as everyone began to anticipate the arrival of the guests. Chell, who had not previously had ample time to explore, was pleasantly surprised by how beautifully decorated it had become in just a few hours—the downstairs hall, with its many lit candles and hanging portraits, had been trailed with sparkling silver streamers; a wide banner had been hung from the top of the bannister in the entrance hall, that read 'Welcome to The Johnson House', and the roof was obscured by many helium-filled, multicolored balloons; and the kitchen was jam-packed with more kinds of food than Chell had previously imagined had existed, all ready to be taken upstairs.

The current occupants of the house who were not currently busy doing other things had been enlisted to help with this. Chell and Wheatley, who didn't have anything else to do and had no fancy clothes of their own to change into, grabbed a platter each and followed Jammers—who looked just plain weird in a suit versus his military-style uniform, in Chell's opinion—up the winding staircase and to the left through a set of huge, double chestnut doors and into a room she had never been inside of before.

It was, quite obviously, a mini-ballroom. At the head of the room sat the table on which all of the food was being placed; Chell, Jammers, and Wheatley all followed the throng to place their dishes on the table. The room was large enough to take up an entire quarter of the top floor of the house, and the outside walls had been decorated with many wide windows with velvet red curtains that had each been drawn back by a golden sash. In front of each window was a round table set beautifully for four, each complete with a polished, ornate kerosene lamp and shining cutlery. At the center of the room was a beautiful oak dance floor, and a huge, crystal chandelier hung from above.

She'd hardly had much time to finish looking around, however, when she was ushered from the room by the sound of the heavy doorknocker downstairs. She and Wheatley watched from the top of the bannister as Clifford threw the main, double doors wide open, and allowed the first arrivals of The Coalition inside.

"Welcome," he said to the room at large, "and welcome back to The Johnson House!"

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	9. The Party

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Nine: The Party**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Chell and Wheatley were watching from the bannisters as the guests streamed into the house, all of them greeting each other with enthusiasm. They were clearly observing the reunion of a close-knit group who had not seen each other for some time; many hugs were exchanged and a few of them even kissed each other quickly on the cheek. It was more like watching a family reunion than anything else, and Clifford was at the center of it all, wringing people's hands left and right.

Everyone she could see had dressed up. Suits and ties, flowing gowns and handbags; a handful of them also had brought with them overnight bags and briefcases. Clifford had mentioned that most of them members of The Coalition would be spending a few nights in The Johnson House.

The sound of the happy voices drifted up to where Jammers, Chell and Wheatley stood watching. Suddenly, someone below shouted up to them, "Oi! James! Get down here already, I want to see how much you've grown!" and with that, Jammers said a word of farewell and made his way downstairs to join them. There were a few accompanying shouts of ' _Jammers!_ ' as his old friends took notice of him, followed by several people asking how he was. Chell and Wheatley shared a meaningful glance.

"Er—shall we, then?" asked Wheatley hesitantly.

Chell looked nervously over the bannister. There were a lot of people, around a dozen—from her viewpoint she could make out only a fair few who she had met before. There was the top of Doug's scraggly, jet-black head, Jammers's blonde one, and a silver mane that obviously belonged to Clifford. She even caught a glimpse of the two boys she'd met that morning, Brayden and Bradley, chasing each other enthusiastically through the forest of legs, but otherwise, there was nobody else.

Nobody but Wheatley.

Earlier that morning, when Clifford had informed her that there was going to be a party, she had felt intrigued, perhaps even excited. But now that she was here, and it was happening, she had started feeling something new, something unexpected.

She felt afraid.

It was not the kind of fear she'd felt within Aperture, when she had been constantly running to save her life. It was not an adrenaline-induced jitteryness, or a jelly-legs-wobble from oh-god-I-almost-fell-into-that-pit. It was a claustrophobic, closed-in, I'd-really-rather-not feeling, and she didn't know where it was coming from. She had always been the one to walk head-first into danger with her head held high, but for the first time, she almost felt like she wanted to run away, and the situation wasn't even dangerous in the slightest.

But maybe that was the problem.

It was too much that was too new and unknown, and too soon. Humans were not like robots. Robots were easy; if you didn't talk to them, they either ignored you and continued to carry out their primary function, or they ignored the fact that you ignored them and they continued to talk to you anyways. Perhaps that was what she had liked most about Wheatley, and why he was the only human she had met yet whose company she had found comfort in—he had never seemed to care that she couldn't talk. He had always talked enough for the both of them.

But humans—especially humans who did not know about her or her past—were not like that, she'd learned. All of them wanted to talk to you. All of them expected you to talk back, to answer their questions. And even worse, all of them wanted to know who you were, and what your story was.

Chell was in no position to meet any of those demands. She had, quite bluntly, zero social skills, and humans were social beings—thus far, she had survived within The Johnson House out of sheer impulse, and she was thankful. Her brain made her body react accordingly and it made her seem a little less out of place. But it had lulled her into a false sense of security, and for a while, she had believed that maybe she could belong, after all—however, as she looked over the bannisters at the crowd below and watched the way they all interacted with each other, and how it flowed so naturally for them… she knew that she could never recreate that.

Wheatley could have that. Wheatley was as normal as a robot-transferred-to-a-human-body could be. Wheatley did not have a handicap, save for perhaps his abysmal IQ, and Wheatley had social skills, even if he was a selfish little moron sometimes.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, trying to read her expression as she watched the people below. "I don't think I've ever said this before, but you look… sad."

Without looking at him, she nodded.

He was silent; she figured that he probably didn't know what to say to cheer her up. She found she didn't care very much. A battle of wills was going on inside of her; her everlasting tenacity was fighting her very real social anxiety. She wanted to go down to the party and try to fit in with these people, but at the same time, she didn't even know how to introduce herself.

She wasn't sure how long it was she stood there watching for before she felt something touching the back of her head. Wheatley was attempting to run his fingers through her hair. She jumped, having not noticed him approach her, but she did not turn or push him away. It was odd, that it was not her first instinct to do so, for it was quite an intimate touch as far as he was considered and she wasn't exactly feeling like being close with anyone, but… it felt kind of nice. It seemed to ease the claustrophobic feeling in her chest a little bit, and she reached up, and began to undo her ponytail.

Wheatley's hands stopped her. "Allow me," he said, and he guided her hands back down to rest on top of the bannister. Then he reached up, finished undoing her pony, and then placed his fingertips lightly on her temples and pulled her hair back behind her ears. Then, he reached up underneath her mid-length, brown hair and rubbed his fingers in small circles; Chell let her eyes slide blissfully shut. It felt like his fingertips were working out the knot of anxiety that had formed within her stomach. She felt it slowly start to unravel, and breathed in a deep, relaxed breath.

"You're all right," he said calmly, and pressed the tip of his nose to the back of her head.

That was too much. Chell reacted in an instant. She turned around, upset. What on earth did he think he was doing? Was he taking advantage of her moment of weakness somehow?

She had reacted out of instinct. For too long, it had been mandatory for her to be on top of her game, all the time. To have someone lull her into a sense of security, like that, and then surprise her—and what was worse, she had let him—it was too much. She was not ready to let her guard down.

Too late, she saw the hurt look on Wheatley's face.

"What did I do?" he asked, genuinely worried. "I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to upset you, I—"

But at that very moment, two unknown people had reached the landing at the top of the stairs. When they saw Chell and Wheatley they froze in surprised.

"Aw, I'm sarry," said the dark-skinned girl who looked to be about Chell's age, grabbing her companion's arm to turn him away and lead him back down the stairs. "We're interrupting something, aren't we, darlaang?" she drawled.

"I fink zis is a public 'allway, Ann," said her brother, scowling and refusing to move.

"Yeah, bat still," replied Ann, frowning and tugging at her brother's arm. "When two people—"

"You're not interrupting," Wheatley said quickly. "We were just … talking."

Ann looked at Chell for confirmation and she shrugged apologetically.

"Well, all right, then," she said. "Hay—do you know yer way around this house? Ol' Cliff's all busy downstairs. Ya think ya'd mind showing me a place where I can put this bag down? I been laggin' it all the way from Princetown, an' I'm tired."

Chell immediately volunteered, despite not having much knowledge of the layout of the house. Anything to get her away from the awkwardness that had spread between herself and Wheatley. She led the way down the upper hall to the first unoccupied bedroom she came across, listening to the girl's heels clicking against the hallway's wooden floor as they walked.

"Thank ya so much," said Ann politely. Chell smiled and nodded in reply and made to leave the woman alone to unpack her belongings, but she stopped her before she could reach the door.

"Aren'cha gonna go get dressed up for tha party, hun?" she asked curiously. "I'm surprised ya haven't alreeady."

The woman was smiling kindly. Chell didn't know what to do. She looked at her beautiful, flowing black-and-purple dress, and then down at her own rather stained jumpsuit. She admired the woman's sparkly black heels that matched her gown, and then down at her own trusty long-fall-boots—she cherished her boots very much, for they had saved her life more times than she could count, but somehow, for the first time, they felt inadequate. Compared to the woman's beautiful heels, they were strange, filthy, and unnecessarily clunky.

And it wasn't just her dress and her shoes that caught Chell's attention—fancy pantyhose covered her sturdy legs and sparkling jewels hung from her neck, ears, and fingers. Her hair fell in shining, black curls to her shoulders, and her incredibly-accentuated eyes had been painted with glittery purple eye shadow.

She looked beautiful. And beside her, Chell felt very dirty, old, and scarred, though she didn't feel ashamed of it—it was who she was, after all, and there was no sense in being embarrassed about it—but it didn't seem the sort of thing one should wear to a party, now that she thought about it.

To answer Ann's question, she shrugged ambiguously.

Ann clicked her tongue reproachfully. "Naw, that won't do," she said. "Come have a seat here, girl. You're too beautiful not to drass up."

Ann had grabbed Chell's arm and the woman found herself being helplessly dragged across the room and deposited on the springy, flower-covered bedstead.

"Sit down, honey. I'll fix ya up so that boyfraand of yours won't know what hit him."

She had literally no idea what the woman was talking about. Boyfriend…? She watched, nonplussed, as Ann threw her rather large suitcase onto the bed beside her with gusto, unzipped it, and started pulling out its contents.

First, she extracted a device that, if Chell had to guess, she might have said that it was a very large, strange set of tongs with a long, skinny wire coming out of the hinged end. Ann plugged this into the wall socket and set it down on the vanity; next, she pulled out a small bag, hair brush, and a bottle of transparent, yellowish liquid with a cap shaped like a heart.

"You're rather a quiet one," said Ann, straightening with a smile.

Chell tried to smile back, but in her nervousness, she wasn't sure that it had come across as a smile or a grimace. Hastily, she pointed to her throat, mimed trying to speak and choking. She didn't want Ann to think that she was being rude by not answering her, or that she didn't want to talk to her.

Ann seemed to catch on rather quick. "Ah," she said, sitting down beside Chell, rubbing a hand against her back empathetically. "It's all right, I understand. That's how ma brother and I was, when we first came to America as kids. We couldn't hardly speak English, neither. No shame in that! We still don't speak perfectly," she added as an afterthought. "Wha' language you speak, then? Wait, I wanna guess. Um… Italian? No… ya look a little Asian, too… are ya Japanese?"

Chell's eyes went wide when she realized what she was talking about, and she shook her head violently, miming choking again.

Ann frowned. "You mean… it's not 'cause your language, than? You jus' can't speak?"

 _Yes!_ Chell agreed enthusiastically.

If Ann had felt sorry for her, she brushed it off immediately. "Well, that's all right!" she said, jumping off the bed with vigor. "Lacky you got me here, I'll introduce ya to the whole gang! Ah, speakin' of introductions, I almos' forgot—I'm Ann ."

She held out her hand, and Chell shook it, looking up at her wondrously. She _really_ didn't mind that Chell was not able to speak? It didn't bother her at _all_?

"I'd ask ya yours, but if ya can't speak, there ain't no sense in that! Now, I know ya a bit smaller than me, but how about this…"

She pulled out of her suitcase a floaty, flowery sundress. She held it up to Chell's shoulders where she was sitting and nodded.

"I think it'll do," she said. "I'll wait outside, and ya can change, sounds good? Jus' come knock on tha door when you're ready so I know to come back in."

And with that, she left, leaving Chell alone with her mouth half-open and nothing but the floral dress clutched in her hands, and the lingering, faint smell of perfume.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Back at the bannisters, Wheatley and Jose had waited for the two women to return, not talking much. When they did not, the two of them had decided to see where they had got to.

Ann was waiting outside of the room Chell had picked out for her. "Well hay, thar," she said as they approached. "Finally come to find us, ay?"

"You vomen, you taking so long, all the time," said Jose impatiently in his thick accent. "And whare is the other one?"

Ann could hardly hide her glee. "She's inside," she said, and immediately Wheatley made to open the door behind her back. "Whoa thar, cowboy," she laughed. "You'll see your lay-dee when I say so, got it?"

"What've you done with her," Wheatley whined.

"I'm spicin' her up. Why don't you two go and get started on those drinks. We'll be done before too long."

Wheatley didn't have a clue what that meant, but shrugged in defeat all the same. If there was one thing Chell was capable of, it was taking care of herself. He'd only been around the woman as a human for a short while, but one thing he had learned was that, if she was not in his vicinity, then usually it was because she was busy with something else more important. And after how sad she'd looked earlier, he felt glad that she'd found something to do, at any rate.

He and Jose exchanged looks. "Vomen," he said again, rolling his eyes. "But she vas right about zose drinks. You feeling thirsty?" he wiggled his thick eyebrows mischievously.

"Oh yes," replied Wheatley, not realizing what Jose meant. Wheatley had never tasted alcohol before. "Yes, I think I could do with a drink myself, mate. I'm feeling parched."

Jose led the way down the hall and through the set of chestnut double doors and into the ballroom, which was already filling up with people—two separate crowds had already formed, one in front of the long table filled with all of the delicious-looking plates they'd taken up earlier, and another surrounded a newly-erected bar.

"Excellent," said Jose with a chuckle. "Vat's your poison?"

"Um, I beg your pardon? What—what was that?"

"I said, vat's your poison?"

"Poison? I—I'm sorry, I don't quite—"

" _Vat_ do you like to drink," said Jose in exasperation.

"Oh," said Wheatley, finally catching on. "Uh. Orange juice?"

Apparently Jose thought what he said was very funny, because he burst out laughing so loudly that a few people turned around.

"What's so funny about orange juice?"

"Sit down, okay, you just sit here," he said, shaking with laughter as he pulled out a chair for Wheatley. "Wait here, I'm coming back. Ha ha, orange juice, yeah right, we will party tonight…"

Unsure of what his new friend meant, he sat down obediently and waited. He'd returned in five or so minutes with two drinks in his hands. He'd slammed one of these down in front of Wheatley, spilling some of the orange liquid on the table.

"What is it?" asked Wheatley.

"Is poison, remember," said Jose, leaning back on the hind legs of his chair and sipping from his own cup that was filled with a dark liquid instead. "I'm kidding, it's orange juice." he leaned forward and punched Wheatley on the arm before tapping his glass against his. "Cheers!" he said, and drank deeply.

Wheatley picked up his own cup, staring at it suspiciously as though it might try to bite him. It did seem to be just orange juice. He took a large swig—

—and choked, spitting it out all over the table.

Jose thumped Wheatley hard on the back, grinning. "Screwdriver," he said. "You haff bad taste, I don't blame you. But not as bad as it could haff been, for your first one. For za next time—swallow it, vill you?"

Wheatley gasped, feeling lightheaded, and stared at the cup. "No seriously, what was that," he asked. "What did you put _in_ it?"

"Vodka," said Jose plainly. "The elixir of liiiiiiife. Just drink it."

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Chell hardly recognized herself.

In the time since Wheatley and Jose had left, she had slipped into Ann's pale pink dress—which had been a little too baggy in the middle but they'd easily remedied this by tying a pink sash around her waist—and Ann had styled her hair for her and applied a little of something she'd called make-up to her face.

Then, bursting with excitement, she'd made her cover her eyes and had led her blindly into the upstairs bathroom. "Have a look!" she'd told her finally, and Chell had uncovered her eyes to stare at herself in the mirror.

In truth, it hadn't felt like much, what she'd done to her. But now that she saw herself—what a difference!

Ann had straightened her sleek, black hair, and retied it into a tight bun, with bangs that swept to one side. She'd magnified her eyes with winged eyeliner and pink eyeshadow, and had added two pink spots of blush to her high cheekbones. All of this was complemented by the flowing dress, which somehow looked even better for being somewhat loosely tied around her body with a sash.

She looked _beautiful._

"An' just one more thang, daarlang," said Ann, beaming at Chell's stunned reaction. "Can't forget about ya feet!"

Chell was privately very glad when Ann handed her a pair of satiny pink slip-ons instead of something like the rather intimidating heels she wore. She slid one onto each foot and beamed back.

It felt so good to be able to look at herself and feel well-cared for. She hadn't felt that way in well—forever. It was amazing, to think that she had been missing out on this during her life in Aperture. It was so comfortable, and this woman—Ann—radiated something that made her feel genuinely happy and trusting inside. Her company and being inside of this house, where everybody had been so nice to her, and made her feel at home—it was almost too much. It was like, something out of a dream. Something out of someone else's life.

It was like having friends—no—a family and a home—a family who, right now, she was still learning to trust, but she was getting there.

She wished she had some way of thanking Ann for what she had done. Instead, she pulled her into a firm hug. Hugs always seemed to help the feelings get across.

"'Yer welcome," said Ann when they broke apart, smiling. "It's no trouble. Truthfully, when I saw ya in that hallway dressed in them old clothes and all that, I thought it looked like ya could use a friend."

Chell nodded, and as she did so, she noticed something odd growing inside of her—she had that feeling in her throat again, that tight, constricted feeling. But, unlike earlier, she did not feel claustrophobic—in fact, she felt quite the opposite. She felt like something inside of her chest had swollen so much that it was threatening to burst, but in the most overwhelmingly good way.

She felt genuinely _happy._

"Hey, now," said Ann, laughing. "Don't we got a party to attend, or somethin'?"

Chell beamed in agreement, grabbed the woman's hand and pulled her out of the bathroom and down the hall—and, both women giggling like schoolgirls, they threw the ballroom's chestnut doors open wide and rushed inside.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

The party was in full swing by the time they got there. Feeling more confident than ever before thanks to the help of her new friend, Chell glanced around for any sign of someone she knew. In particular, she was looking for Wheatley—but through the crowd of people, she doubted that she'd be able to find him.

She recognized the majority of the partygoers as being employees of Clifford's personal laboratory, none of which she'd spoken with before, but she did catch sight of Felix, who was acting as bartender, and Bradley and Brayden, who were clinging to the hips of a very attractive woman wearing a long, red dress. There was also a small group huddled in the corner opposite the band around a pair of very wet-looking, camo-clad men; Clifford and Jammers were among them.

"Over here," said Ann in her ear over the sound of conversations, laughter, and music. She pulled Chell through the throng to the other side of the room where a table was occupied with two very familiar, very amused people; one of them was flailing his arms wildly as he spoke, choking with laugher, and the other was also chuckling as he tipped his chair back, his boots resting on the table as he balanced his drink comically on his forehead.

"Hay, y'all," Ann greeted them as she and Chell slid into the two vacant chairs. "How ya been?"

Jose let his chair fall back on all four legs with a loud bang. "Aw, feeling good, sis," he said, and reached over to pull her into a hug, but she slapped his hands away. "Quit it Jose, ya gonna mess up my hair."

Wheatley, however, was staring at Chell, who bit her lip nervously. What would Wheatley think of her new—for lack of a better word—look?

He cocked his head to one side, and then the other, squinting. "Well, aw'right," he said finally, "It is a bit _weird_ , but I can manage."

Typical. Chell chuckled, but Ann looked offended. "Don't tell her that," she said scornfully, "She looks nice!"

She tried to fix Ann with a look that said _don't worry about it, he wouldn't understand,_ but a second later their table was hailed by someone new, who had none other than Doug Rattmann trapped under his right arm. Doug looked very much like he'd have liked to disappear from the crowded room and go to bed, but the man was stopping him.

"Having fun, you four? Making fine use of the bar, I see, as usual," he said, his eyes lingering on Jose, who had put his boots back up on the table. He turned to Chell. "I'm George Jacobs, mayor of Lunar City and founder of The Coalition."

"How you doing, Georgie," said Jose thickly. "Long time, no see, ay? You vant somefing to drink? I was just going to refill my own."

"No thanks," he said coolly. "Say, Doug, do you mind finding us two more chairs? I'd like to have a chat, two of you I have not seen in many years now and _you_ two," his eyes drifted over to Chell and Wheatley, who's mouth was partially open, "I have not yet met. Ah, Jose—I've changed my mind. Perhaps a gin and tonic."

There was a scraping sound as Doug pulled up two chairs, and Wheatley finished the rest of his drink; Jose excused himself to go refill their glasses and the Mayor and Doug sat down.

The first impression of George Chell had had was that he wasn't a very clever man, all things considered. He had a somewhat foolish air about him, not unlike Wheatley; or maybe she was imagining it, because they did look somewhat similar. They both had bright blue, round eyes, and sandy brown hair that was always extremely messy no matter what. The only real difference was that Wheatley was British whereas this man was not, and this man was tall whereas Wheatley was not. He was also quite a few years older looking than Wheatley was.

"So, Doug tells me your names are Chell and Wheatley," said George at length, and immediately, Chell glanced at Doug, who shrugged apologetically.

"He's head of The Coalition," said Doug. "He was going to find out sooner or later."

"Right you are, Doug! Now…" he clapped his hands together excitedly, and Chell had a sudden sense of foreboding—she knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, the first thing the man did was mention Aperture. "So Doug also tells me that you came from a certain facility. Didn't know anyone was still alive in there! Had my men venturing down in there for many years to find anything useful to bring to the surface, never saw a thing. But that's not what I'm here to talk about. Has anyone explained to either of you what The Coalition is all about?"

It was exactly as she had thought—he had come here recruiting. However, Chell's mind was suddenly full of something else entirely. He had said that 'his men' had been venturing down into Aperture a long time. She had had a vague suspicion that it was so from the time when she'd first overheard the conversation in the wheat field because they had seemed so _familiar_ with the place, but this confirmed it. They had been stealing from Aperture for years.

Did GLaDOS know about that, Chell wondered. She had a very strong feeling that, somehow, she did not know—perhaps the many years of rust and decay had masked the missing artefacts so that she had not noticed when she had been reactivated. The place had been a disaster, after all…

But if she _did_ ever find out…

Chell shivered involuntary at the thought, and decided she didn't want to know what GLaDOS would do. Her eyes scanned the room for Clifford; he was still conversing with the two sopping military men she had never seen before and Jammers.

She frowned. Something odd was tugging at the back of her mind, something important. It felt like there was something she had forgotten to do, but she couldn't remember for the life of her what it was.

It wasn't until Jose sat back down at the table and handed out drinks that she remembered. The Coalition had been stealing from Aperture Science all these years, and Clifford had sent Jammers and the rest to explore the strange signals he'd been receiving from the Laboratories for the last week, presumably ever since GLaDOS had been reactivated. Nobody in the outside world had had any idea at the time that GLaDOS was still alive. They had thought that they were walking into what Aperture Science had always been to them—a decommissioned and partially destroyed derelict laboratory, and Chell had had the chance to warn them, but she'd just let them go…

She'd let them walk straight into Aperture…

Right into GLaDOS, who would soon find out that she had been robbed…

She felt horrified. Perhaps, because of the way in which she and Wheatley had explained it, Clifford had not fully understood the gravity of the situation. She'd thought she'd explained what GLaDOS's reactivation meant... she thought he'd understood.

Immediately, Chell jumped to her feet. Her first instinct had been right. She could not trust these people to understand. There was no one, no one in the entire place who could fathom the danger those men had walked into besides Doug.

"Hey, now," said George, staring at Chell in surprise. "Have you even been listening? Where do you think you're going, Miss?"

But Chell had ignored him, and had already grabbed a hold of Doug by his tie and, deaf to his confused protests, was dragging him across the dancefloor to where Clifford sat talking to his comrades, with fire in her eyes.

The Chief's elite team had either been captured by GLaDOS or worse, they were dead. Chell was furious. The five men's lives were at stake. Something had to be done, and she was going to make sure it did.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	10. The Coalition

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Ten: The Coalition Reunited**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

"Ah! Hey—what's the matter, Chell?" Doug choked as his tie was forced tighter around his neck. He reached up to try to loosen it with no success. "What's— _gcck_ —going on?"

Tripping over his own feet, he was forced to follow her to the other side of the room. Clifford, Jammers, and two others were seated at one of the tables closest to the buffet. As they approached, Clifford looked up, and a worried frown creased his already very lined face.

"Ah, Chell, we were just talking about y—" he started to say before he caught sight of her expression. "Um, is something bothering you, dear?"

Chell meant business. She threw Doug down in an unoccupied chair, completely ignoring the fact that she was unceremoniously interrupting what was obviously a private discussion. She mimed writing to Clifford, silently requesting a notepad, and then slammed her hands down on the table seriously.

"What's wrong with her?" Jammers asked Doug cluelessly as Clifford rummaged in his pockets for a notepad and a pen. "What did you guys do? Jesus Chell, you're kind of scary when you're upset."

Chell shook her head impatiently and waved her hand in his general direction, obviously not wanting to be bothered by him. As she waited, her heart beat faster and faster inside of her chest as Clifford continued to rummage for a notepad. These idiots, she thought. Sitting here like nothing was wrong. Finally, he had found one and passed it to her.

She started scribbling immediately. Completely ignoring the presence of the two men she did not know, she wrote down everything on her mind in as little words as she could.

'You sent your friends who found us down into Aperture. Did you not understand what I told you, GLaDOS is STILL ALIVE. They're not back yet, they need HELP. Ask Doug if you don't understand. SHE WILL KILL THEM and you aren't doing anything to stop it!'

She thrust the notepad back into Clifford's hands, and he read it aloud to the group. When Doug's name was mentioned, Chell nodded frantically and gestured at him, and Doug looked displeased. So he had been brought along as a witness to answer questions, had he?

Clifford was silent for a moment. Chell was pacing frantically, running her hands through her beautifully-styled hair in frustration, which was now a mess again.

"Chell, you have to calm down," said Clifford plainly. "Please have a seat."

She huffed in reply, flaring her nostrils. Sit down! He _still_ wasn't getting it, if they didn't do something _now_ , if they didn't send someone—if _she_ personally didn't go back—then those men were going to die for no reason, and it was all her fault!

Clifford steepled his hands beneath his chin before he addressed the other members of their table. "Ryan, Henry, I'm sorry, but will you excuse us for a moment? Just five minutes, if you please. The young lady will doubtlessly be more comfortable with less of us present."

They each shot a curious glance at Chell, and then left.

"Please sit down, Chell," Clifford said again. "You are too worried, my dear woman. My friends are not in as much danger as you think."

She bit her lip, hesitating a little before she decided to sit, wondering why on earth he could just sit there and be so calm in this kind of situation. If it were her, she'd be halfway to Aperture by now, ready to break down GLaDOS's door!

Holding out her hand, she waited for Clifford passed her the notepad. 'What do you mean?' she wrote.

"I mean, Doug here had already informed me about the capabilities of GLaDOS long before you did. I would never send anyone into that kind of danger without a way to defend themselves."

"It's true," said Doug, looking at Chell sympathetically. "It's nice of you to be so concerned, Chell, but Clifford already thought of something. Actually, he already thought of a lot of things you'd be really surprised to know about."

Clifford was smiling at Chell, but she was utterly confused. Did that mean—what _did_ that mean? There was entirely no _way_ that they had found a way to control GLaDOS. It was nearly impossible to beat her, she knew that very well first-hand—so unless technology had developed a helluva lot since she'd been put into cryosleep, then there was no way. And what she'd seen of the world so far did not look seem advanced, if she was honest.

Clifford was still smiling as he passed back the notepad. "Really," he said. "Relax, my dear. Ryan and Henry, the two men who were sitting here, have just returned from the wheat field. I asked them to search for them, and the information they had found out they have relayed to me, and I'm telling you, you need not worry about it right now. Until tomorrow, I do not require anyone's help."

'What's tomorrow?' she asked, confused.

"You will see in due time. Now, I suggest you get back to your table—Wheatley looks like he could use your help."

The old man let out a silvery laugh and Chell, even in her current frustration and agitation, turned around in spite of herself just in time to see him fall off of his chair and faceplant onto the floor. Even from across the room she heard his muffled voice—"I'm okay, 'onest"—as Ann and Jose both helped him up and eased him back into his seat.

Shaking her head, she turned to Doug with a pleading look, but he just rose and pulled her up with him. "Come on, Chell," he said, sounding very tired. "Clifford's right. There's nothing we can do about the situation until tomorrow."

Reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her back across the room to their table. She was glad to see that Mayor Jacobs had disappeared for the moment. "Oi!" said Wheatley over-enthusiastically as he saw her approaching, and he tried valiantly to stand up, but tripped over his overly large feet and fell back onto the floor. Forgoing the chair altogether, he sat down, legs splayed out, and rested his back against its legs. "It's you," he mumbled, slurring a little bit. "The gritty pearl. Um, tha's not right, that's not right, that's not right at all, is it? Pretty girl. That's better. Sorry. _Hic._ "

Chell felt herself blushing automatically, and at first, she wasn't sure why. Her possibly being attractive was the kind of thing that had never even crossed her mind. Blame it on her having spent most of her days running from a homicidal AI, but she had never even really considered the fact that maybe, someone might one day desire to have a relationship with her… well, Wheatley calling her a 'pretty girl' was hardly a cause to believe a day like that might one day come, but it made her think of it nonetheless.

Either way, she was extremely taken aback by his comment. Even _if_ she had thought of herself as being attractive, she… well, she certainly never would have thought _Wheatley_ would be attracted to her.

But, it _kind_ of made sense for reasons she did not have time to fully contemplate, like the fact that they had both been through a lot together. Deciding to focus on the party, she tucked those thoughts away in the back of her mind to save for a rainy day or a night where she couldn't sleep.

"He's a little drunk," Ann informed her apologetically, bringing Chell back to the present. "Ya have my brother to thank for tha'," she said, glaring in annoyance at Jose.

"'Ey, how vas I supposed to know 'e vas a lightveight? He zays he like drink, I bring drink. Simple."

"Ya could have _asked,_ Jose," she sighed.

"Right, right," said Jose. "I ask, ja, what he like. And zis guy—what his name again, Willy?—he say orange juice. Means screwdriver. Everybody know that, right Willy?"

Wheatley did not answer, but Jose didn't seem to care. He tilted his chair back and pulled his hat low over his eyes.

"He said his name's _Wheatley_ , if you been listenin'," sighed Ann before she turned to Chell, who had been deposited in a chair by Doug. Doug had then scurried off toward the exit soon after with a word of goodnight. "Ah— _Jose,_ " Ann groaned. "You're not _sleepin'_ , are you?"

Sure enough, under the merry melody the band had just broken into, the sound of Jose's relaxed breathing could be heard.

"Ya've _got_ to be jokin'," said Ann in disbelief.

She sighed again and leaned back into her seat. Chell had just stated to try to hoist Wheatley, who also seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep, back into his chair when someone cried out to her from behind.

"Chell! I'll give you a hand with him, here."

She groaned internally. It was Mayor Jacobs. "Hi," said Wheatley weakly as the older man grabbed hold of him. "I can do it by myself…"

"Yeah, that's what they all say, son. Does somebody want to go fetch this poor lad a glass of water?"

"I'll do it," volunteered Ann, and she disappeared quickly.

"Looks like it's just you and me again, Chell!" said Mayor Jacobs cheerfully, sitting down once more once Wheatley was more or less secured in his own seat. "Funny how that keeps happening!"

She smiled weakly, grimacing a little as Wheatley leaned forward with a groan and pressed his forehead against the table. This night was not at all turning out as she'd hoped, so far. The stressful situation with Clifford was still weighing on her mind, Wheatley was drunk and, while she had managed to make _some_ new friends, this guy—George, Mayor Jacobs, whatever—was really beginning to get on her nerves.

"You sure did disappear in a jiffy, there," he continued, watching her carefully as he sipped his drink. "Something urgent to discuss with Clifford?"

Slowly she nodded, and she noticed that the man's eyes flicked briefly to her mouth. He obviously knew that she wasn't about to talk to anyone without a paper and pencil, and yet he was talking to her as though he were expecting her to answer him. It was making her feel really uncomfortable.

Had she previously thought that Wheatley had talked too much and was severely annoying because of it, and that there was no possible way that anyone else in the world could be worse? Well, she was wrong, and on all counts, too…

"I don't doubt it," muttered Jacobs. Chell hardly needed to be there, this man could hold a conversation with himself. "For a woman who no one knew the existence of a mere few days ago, you sure have gotten popular! Clifford has told me about your very interesting past, and about Aperture. I'm one of the very few people he's told." He puffed out his chest proudly. "Though of course, that will change, starting tomorrow!"

"What's tomorrow," asked Wheatley weakly, his voice muffled from the fact that his face was still smushed against the table.

"Ah, I'm glad you asked that, my dear boy. Tomorrow is—well, actually, that's a secret you should be finding out about in—let me see. About thirteen minutes, if Clifford's timing is right, and it's almost always impeccable!"

Chell did not know what to say to this. She didn't much care to hear what she was _going_ to find out until she was finding it out, and as such, she was very glad that Ann had chosen that moment to return because it saved her from having to think of a way to answer or acknowledge what the Mayor was saying as interesting instead of just plain dull.

"Here ya go, Wheatley," said Ann, sitting down next to him. "Drink this, it'll make ya feel better."

She helped Wheatley drink some water, which Chell pretended to be very interested in to try to get the Mayor to leave her alone, but it did not work.

"Anyways," said Jacobs over the sound of Wheatley gulping loudly as he wrinkled his nose in disgust, "I'm not sure what everyone's told you about The Coalition. It is, at its most basic, a team of the most valuable citizens this city has to offer. It is a group of people who have proved themselves to be admirable assets skilled above everyone else, but… I'll tell you, many of them have not even come close to facing the kinds of battles you've been through, Chell. You are remarkable."

If there was supposed to be a compliment hidden in there somewhere, Chell missed it. She was not having any of it.

"Both Ann and Jose are a part of The Coalition, right Ann?"

"Oh, yes," said Ann distractedly. "Have been for many a year. But wait—y'all aren't new recruitments?" she frowned at Chell. "I was guessin' that y'all had been hired while we'd been workin' in tha city."

"No, not yet," said the Mayor. He looked sideways at Chell and winked. "Their story is much more interesting than that, my dear Ann, though right now isn't really the time to begin it."

She looked reproachful, but he ignored her and turned back to Chell. "It so happens that we have gathered for a reason tonight," he said seriously, looking her dead in the eye. "What that reason is, I can't say yet, but I would be honored if you would consider helping us and officially joining The Coalition, in a union of both Aperture, and—"

But at that moment, the band stopped playing, and Chell sighed with relief for she was saved having to think of a way to reject the offer Mayor was about to make. Clifford was climbing up onto a small, raised podium set with a microphone at the front of the room. He was clearly preparing to make a speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his magnified voice echoing strangely against the vaulted ceiling. "If I could have your attention please, I have an announcement to make."

All around the room, there was the sound of frantically uttered 'shh's and 'be quiets'. Quiet grew abnormally fast, until at last no one made a sound, save for Bradley and Brayden, who had been fighting over the last brownie on their plate. Clifford waited patiently for their mother to placate them before he continued.

"As you are all aware, I have called you here tonight for an important reason," he began again. Even Wheatley had plucked his head back up from the table to listen. "And, as important a reason as it is, tonight is not the night for us to begin to discuss it, I am sad to say. Tonight is instead the night for old friends, family, and new friends," He raised his glass, and Chell rather thought he was looking at her, "and merrymaking. I beg you to enjoy it, for this celebration is the first, full reunion of the respectable committee nicknamed The Coalition for nearly ten years."

He paused here, and Mayor Jacobs raised his glass. "To Clifford, for hosting this party!" he said loudly, and the room exploded with cheers, many 'hear hear's, and clapping.

"Thank you," said Clifford respectfully, holding up a hand for silence. "Thank you. I am honored to host such an event, of course. Now, before you go back to celebrating, I have one more thing to say. Tomorrow, I ask that all of the key members of The Coalition, and possibly a few other friends as well," this time she was sure, he had looked at her, "join me for a meeting in this very same room at ten o'clock sharp, where we will discuss several important matters at hand that are begging to be discussed. In short, I hope that all of you will still have your wits about you tomorrow, because tomorrow's the day when we shall decide what is happening in our world today, and what is to be done about it."

"This meeting," said Wheatley to Chell. "It doesn't include us, does it? I don't—"

"Shh!" whispered Ann.

"But for now, it is the time to celebrate!" finished Clifford ecstatically, beaming as he raised his glass to the room at large and said, "To The Coalition!"

The words were echoed all around the room as everyone drank.

"The Coalition," echoed Wheatley quietly, as he drank from his own.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

The party had run quite late indeed. By the time the crowd started to thin, and Chell had heaved a half-asleep Wheatley bodily from his chair with the help of Ann, it was well past midnight. Jose had already disappeared, and Chell had walked Ann to her room before depositing Wheatley in his own. They'd said a quick goodnight, in which both girls hugged, and Ann said that she had had a great time and was very glad that they'd met.

Then, she'd had to lug Wheatley downstairs, who was drooling unpleasantly on her shoulder. She'd elbowed him hard in the ribs, trying to wake him up, but Wheatley either couldn't or didn't want to walk by himself.

Finally, after what felt like forever, she'd arrived panting outside his room and had somehow managed to find the doorknob, open the door, and switch on the light. Then, she'd dragged him inside, pulled back the blanket on the bed, and had deposited Wheatley beneath them, fully clothed.

He instantly grabbed a pillow and snuggled it into his chest. "Gritty pearl," she thought she heard him mumble sleepily as his eyes closed, his hand stroking the pillow softly, and she flushed again.

She meant to escape, tiptoeing toward the door before Wheatley could realize where she was going, but apparently, he wasn't as out of it as he had seemed.

"Wait!"

Wheatley was suddenly sitting bolt upright in bed. "Don't leave!" he cried. "I… I don't want to be alone."

Chell bit her lip. She was tired herself, and just wanted to jump straight in the shower and then get to bed. Keeping Wheatley company was the last thing she'd wanted to do, especially while he was still quite drunk, but she'd be lying to herself if she said she hadn't grown even a little more fond of the ex-robot over the past few days. They'd spent so much time together, and it seemed like he was genuinely learning how to be a kind and somewhat caring person.

Who would have thought that humanity would manage to teach even little old Wheatley so much about how to be human. And who'd have thought that humanity would have a similar effect on _her_.

For she realized all at once that she'd changed, too—a few days ago, she'd never have felt this soft toward Wheatley. He had tried to kill her, after all—and she had hated him for that, even on top of how annoying and goddamned idiotic he could be on a regular basis. But she found that, deep inside, the mistrust and resentment had subsided rather a lot, far more than she'd ever guessed that it would, and in record time, too.

It was this place. This world, this city, this house, it had to be—with its friendly, wonderful people—it made her feel so _good_ inside. She loved humanity. It was hard to stay angry and pessimistic and distrustful when so much _good_ surrounded you.

"Chell?" said Wheatley weakley, pleading again. "I—I know you don't want to, but… could you _please_ stay with me?"

She let the hand she'd been resting on the doorknob fall to her side. Yes, she'd stay and keep him company, she decided—at least for a little while. Switching off the light, Chell felt her way through the darkness to the foot of the bed, and climbed onto it.

She heard Wheatley shifting around the pillows as he sat up against the headboard. All that she could see of him through the dark was the two pale orbs that were his eyes, glinting a little in the half-light that was shining through the partially-open window. It had been raining outside for most of the night; even now, Chell could hear the pitter patter of heavy drops. It was kind of peaceful.

"Thanks," said Wheatley, and she shrugged.

He was silent for so long that Chell thought he might have fallen asleep, and she was about to sneakily get up off the bed and make her way back to her own room, when he spoke.

"I really like this place y'know, Chell. It's nice here, right?"

Chell remained cross-legged and silent, not sure of what to do. She settled for relaxing listening to the sound of the rain outside again and Wheatley's quiet monologue.

"I… I want to tell you. I'm… glad. I'm glad that it was you, who escaped with me. I'm glad it's you, who's here with me, like this… I—I really like spending time with you. It's a bit strange, I know, but you're the one who—you saved my life."

More silence, more rain. It was making her very tired. She yawned hugely…

She heard Wheatley heave a huge sigh. "But…" he said slowly, "I didn't deserve that, did I? I… you should have let go. I should be in space right now, I'd deserve it. I tried to kill you."

This finally did get Chell's attention. Her eyes snapped back to him. It was all perfectly true; in fact, it was _so_ true that even now, her stomach squirmed unpleasantly. Even in this very moment, she was not sure why she had hung onto Wheatley when she could have just let him be sucked into space.

But somehow, she found that she was entirely glad that things had happened the way they did.

"I know I said it before, but I'm sorry." Wheatley sounded extremely sad. "Sincerely. You didn't deserve what I did to you, Chell."

Suddenly, she started to hear a new sound coming from him that she'd never heard before. It was quiet and wounded and full of pain. He was crying, she realized with a jolt.

There was a great sadness in her heart as well, and before she knew what she was doing, she was crawling up the bed toward him. She joined him with her back against the headboard, and she felt around in the darkness for his hand and squeezed it.

She was not prepared for what happened next—suddenly Wheatley's weight was on her, he'd thrown his hands around her neck and buried his rather sopping wet face into the crook of her neck. His whole body was shaking with sobs.

"I… _gghk_ … I-I'm n-not good at this— _snff_ —human thing," he choked. "I— _hic_ —was never… n-n-never a nice guy. I'm… I'm t-trying, but it's so—h-ard, Chell, I want you to be my… my f-friend, b-but I…"

Chell reached up carefully and began to rub the back of his neck with her fingers, like he'd done to her. Her eyes were glassy as she looked around the small room, breathing deeply. Her senses were sharper, somehow, in the dark; her eyes picked up the faintest hint of shadowy shapes that were the dresser and wardrobe; her ears were tuned into the sound of the rain and the rhythm of their breath like it was music; and the skin of her fingertips and the weight of Wheatley's body on her torso and the wetness of his tears on her neck made her feel more complete, somehow. Wheatley started to relax as she worked, and slowly, the sobs gave way to hiccups, and he sank slowly back down into the bed.

"P-promise you won't leave," he murmured, worried. "Please."

And Chell thought about everything that had happened between them in the entire time they'd known each other—she thought about the hopeful brigade they'd formed to break through the facility before they'd accidentally reactivated GLaDOS, and then how he'd come back for her; and how she'd had no choice but to put him in charge of the facility, and how he'd turned against her; and about how he'd used her selfishly as a test subject to scratch the itch, and had ultimately plotted to kill her when it didn't work. And then, she thought about how something inside of her had made her save him, and she remembered the grudging union they'd formed thereafter. What might it be like, to suddenly wake up as a human being when for your entire life you had lived as a computer? How could someone deal with something like that?

And finally, she thought about what their lives were like here, now, and together. They were free for the first time, and finally, she thought about how simultaneously beautiful and terrible that small notion was.

Freedom. They were free.

Slowly, Wheatley's hiccups subsided and she listened to the sound of his breathing becoming even and peaceful. She found her own eyelids becoming irresistibly heavy; seeking comfort, she slid down beside him and pulled the blankets up over their bodies.

She brushed a loose strand of hair off of Wheatley's forehead, and realized, for the first time:

 _I forgive him._

Her eyes drifted slowly closed.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	11. Playing Games

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Eleven: Playing Games**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

His real name was Silver Clancey. He was an award winning officer of Lunar City's military Special Forces, Elite Squadron, and a very important member of The Coalition. He had been on countless missions, some that could even be considered impressive outside the bounds of the city he helped to protect; some might say that he'd seen a lot for a man who was only thirty-five years old.

Clancey was a very smart man, and he had met Clifford and Mayor Jacobs nigh ten years ago when he had been twenty-five and fresh from his military training days and new as a resident of Lunar City. They had proposed that he join them, and he had accepted the invitation to The Coalition gratefully. He'd been working alongside Clifford ever since.

The main duty Clifford had assigned to him had been to oversee the retrieval of tech from the underground facility located due west of The Johnson House, known as Aperture Science. The activity within said facility had been monitored closely, to ensure their safety and to make sure they never walked into anything they had not been expecting; they had also ran many training courses detailing what should be done, should they find themselves trapped within the facility.

But Clancey was the only one whom Clifford had told the specifics of GLaDOS to.

The other members of the team that Mr. Clancey, a.k.a. Chief Silver, had led into the facility on that fateful morning when he'd first met Chell and Wheatley, had been kept in the dark about the murderous AI for fear that their curiosity might get the better of them on one of their thoroughly-planned-out expeditions. Clifford had ensured that they were properly trained in emergency protocol and had provided them with weapons that could be used in the event of aforementioned emergency instead, which they were required to keep with them at all times inside of the Laboratories.

But Clifford had not sent Clancey blindly into Aperture that morning; the two had discussed the gravity of the situation, and had decided that his team should not be warned that there was the chance that GLaDOS was active so that they could keep a clear head. He didn't like lying to his team, but it was for the best; these men were not as brave or as experienced as him. He could not expect them to have the confidence to walk into Aperture Science if they knew exactly what they could be walking into like he did, even if it was their job to do so.

And so he had led them in unaware.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

The five men dangled helplessly like flies caught in a gigantic spider's web. The master of the Laboratories looked at each of them in turn, with something like amusement evident in the way she moved the white fiberglass of her faceplate and black optic housing. She thought she had them quite trapped, and it was true. Despite what Clifford and Doug Rattmann (who had had personal experiences with GLaDOS himself) had warned Clancey about, he had not expected the AI to be so hostile so quickly.

They had walked, quite plainly, into a trap—but it could not be helped, for he did not have the resources to enter the facility any other way. His mind was reeling for a solution, searching for a way out of their predicament, but he needed time. He needed to stall before the AI decided that it was time to start testing again.

"I am going to ask you one last time," GLaDOS asked the group of men swinging gently from the ceiling. "What are you doing inside of my facility? I know you didn't come here just because. Nobody comes here just because. And I'm not complaining, I'm just stating the facts."

With a meaningful glance at his team, he signaled for them to stay quiet. "We came here to talk to you," he lied. "We come from a place called Lunar City, it's a town not far from here. We work at a radio frequency monitoring station. We received a signal from your Laboratories a few days ago, and came here to investigate."

"A signal?" GLaDOS actually sounded surprised, which was a good thing for him—the longer he could keep the AI's attention on him and away from the test chambers meant he'd have longer to think.

"Yes, an electromagnetic signal—"

"I know what kind it was, you idiot."

She sounded angry, Clancey noticed, and distantly, he felt interested—why would that make her angry? Was she indeed as homicidal as Doug had said? At the time, he'd had a bit of trouble believing it due to Doug's… reputation, but now…

However, a moment later he noticed something. He saw that the cables the five were dangling from were all being controlled by use of a pulley-like system to his right, hidden away just behind the thick, armored panels. It gave him an instant idea, and he looked to his left to see who he could communicate it to.

It was Hadley. "When I say so, aim for two o'clock," he whispered as loudly as he dared, before addressing GLaDOS. "But our equipment isn't designed to read what it contained, just where it came from… and that it was sent from some kind of computerized network. Our records didn't show anything existing out here, as it's been farmland for decades, so we thought we'd investigate and we found you."

"You did not attempt to communicate with me wirelessly in return?" she asked him quickly.

For a split second, he was caught off guard—the tone of her voice had changed. She sounded less murderously chilling, and more—curious? Confused? Scared?

"No," he said slowly, feeling somewhat confused as to why she would ask this. "Why do you ask?"

"It is not important," she answered, and the hulking form of the AI seemed to shake herself and come to her senses. "I was just curious."

While she spoke, Clancey tensed, wrapping his hand around a small, round object clipped to his belt, and nodded once to Hadley. Just a bit longer—

"What's important is that you're here with me, now," finished GLaDOS. "And there's no one to stop us from testing for the rest of your lives."

"NOW!" he shouted, and simultaneously, each of them pulled a small, metal pin from the devices they held in their hands and threw them, hard. Clancey was aiming for a space that was maybe a foot wide, the gap in the panels behind which he'd seen the pulley; the grenade met its target and exploded violently, the force multiplied by Hadley's which hit a second later. The chamber shook like it had been hit by an earthquake as the pulley system was blasted into dust and the cables fell freely—all five of the men braced themselves for impact with the chamber floor as the metal claws disengaged.

GLaDOS yelled in pain and shock as an opaque cloud of dust and chunks of cement and panel rained down from the ceiling and the walls. Clancey fell about ten feet and landed hard but immediately flowed into a tuck-and-roll to save himself from injury, as did his partners. Knowing he had only seconds, he grabbed his nearest teammate by the arm—he could not make out who it was through the dust—and ran blindly, tripping on the loose panels that littered the floor.

They dodged more falling rock and panel arms and ran straight into the hole that had been blasted in the wall; the explosion had subsided enough for them to pass through safely, although it was still extremely hot. Fires became the only source of light as they plunged into what appeared to be a dark tunnel, blurred with smoke and waves of heat.

It wasn't until they had put a good amount of space behind them and had reached the entrance to an undamaged service stairway that Clancey stopped and turned around. The comrade who he had pulled through the hole with him turned out to be none other than Hadley; he had suffered a few cuts on his cheeks and hands and his forehead was singed but he looked to be okay. Clancey looked to the hallway behind him, expecting to see Parker, Eckley and Warner bringing up the rear, but it was empty.

"Where are the others?" Clancey asked Hadley immediately.

Hadley groaned and fell back against the wall and slid down it, holding his head in his hands. "I don't know, Chief," he said shakily. "One second, they were behind me, and then the next…"

The man groaned again and Clancey bent down on one knee. "Here, drink this," he said, and handed him a bottle of water.

"Thanks," mumbled Hadley. "I'm sorry, Chief…"

"It was not your fault."

He stood up and stared down the corridor, praying that in a moment, he'd see the three of them round the distant corner, but he knew they wouldn't. Hating himself for not going back for them, he threw his pack from his shoulders and unzipped it. The distraction they had created would only serve its purpose for so long; time was precious, and if he didn't make use of it now, none of them would live to see the surface world again. Eckley, Parker and Warner had been trained. They'd know what to do.

He pulled out a long metal instrument, and set it down. "We've only got one shot at this," he said to Hadley seriously, "So let's make it count."

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

GLaDOS had previously thought that the mute lunatic was the most infuriatingly stubborn human she would ever meet. She had been even worse than Doug Rattmann, which was saying a lot, because he had been quite bad himself—for almost an entire month he had evaded her.

But she'd learned a lot a since then. Which made the fact that these newcomers—who had never even _heard_ of her before, according to them—had managed to surprise her even worse. It was insulting. They had just met. They had no reason to hate her. She hadn't even said anything more than the _word_ 'test' and they'd already embarked on a personal attack against her and had destroyed half of her personal chamber.

She was absolutely not used to such a …forward… kind of foe.

Perhaps that was the most infuriating thing of all—it was the fact that they had gotten the best of her and had made the first move when she had not been ready. It was a low blow.

She had got them back, however; three of their number had been captured. Three of them was good enough for now—she'd deal with the other two later. She was currently prepping the first of the lot for testing, having placed the remaining two in long-term relaxation. The final two had adopted a more Rattmann-style of doing things, but she felt confident that they would not get far. She had Blue and Orange now, after all—and she sent a nonverbal ping to the two robots to be on the lookout for intruders.

The anger that had consumed her since she had been attacked subsided somewhat when she started testing. The sight of him down there, clad in bright orange, made something else begin to take its place instead. The subroutines that existed inside of her brain responded to the optical input, manually lowering her internal clocking rate and the frantic cycling of her CPU. This was what testing was like; when she was doing Science, all the world seemed right. It was the one thing that she found calming no matter what… call it base programming, primary directives, whatever, it all came down to one thing—it was what she was built to do, and it had been so _long…_ she had not tested a human since before she'd been reunited with her body.

It was the only time when true order existed inside of Aperture. Once she had purged and stripped away the decay of decades, leaving behind only pristine halls and surgically-sterile chambers, and had fixed the many damaged and broken connections, they were able to move with her once more as a single organism. For when she slept, it slept; and when she tested, it tested, too. It was like having many sentient nerves that could move on their own and reacted to her barest whim, her most internal emotions. Through them, she could See; the sensory information from each panel and doorway and button was connected to and processed by her.

At the moment, though, they were telling her that something was wrong. Curious, she focused her attention even further on the test subject; the small servos inside of the closest observation camera whirred as she zoomed in.

The problem was apparent at once. There must have been a mistake—it was not possible. She must have forgotten to calibrate the emancipation grid. She watched as the test subject reached the corner of the room, and used the portal device to gather the cube. She was focused on the strange, computerized device that had been strapped to the test subject's left forearm, so focused that she failed to notice that something else was off, too—the static charge that existed within the frequencies she used to communicate with the chamber itself was much too high. Her last thought before the test subject dropped the cube on the button was that the test results wouldn't matter if he was cheating—

Oh, how very wrong she was. The button closed the circuit, sending a final signal through the already static-overladen network and the result was a shock of feedback that whined straight through the AI's system, resonating at her core and—as had been programmed many years ago by the scientists—her body read the stimulus as pure, unaltered pleasure.

It was electrical bliss. The visual input of the chamber swam before her optic and the next thing she knew the test subject was already in the elevator, waiting. She tried to focus through the aftermath and then was brought back to her senses by an unpleasant jolt—she knew for a fact that this emancipation grid had been calibrated correctly, and yet the test subject still had the strange contraption attached to his arm.

Well.

Two more chambers passed without incident, save for the …rather breathtaking… conclusions. GLaDOS was beginning to grow frustrated. She had still not managed to remove the machine from his arm, and because the pleasure center in her brain kept being overstimulated, it was very hard to keep focused and to decide what to do about it. Part of her did not care and just wanted him to complete the tests as quickly as possible, and that really worried her, because it was a sign that the testing protocols were indeed clouding her judgement and she was developing a dependence. The other, more logical part of her brain told her that this contraption was probably trouble and that she should remedy the situation as quickly as possible.

But as soon as she'd got to the point where she was ready to make a decision and forcibly remove it herself, he'd solve the test and all the world went to hell.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Testing, thought Eckley, was a piece of cake.

He had of course learned about Aperture's preoccupation with testing, and the function of the dual portal device through Clifford. At the time, he'd thought the training chambers they'd gone through in the basement of The Johnson House's laboratory were a waste of time, but now, he swore that if he were to ever see Clifford again, he'd have to think of some way to properly thank the man.

Who'd have thought that learning his way around Clifford's portal device replica would have paid off.

The device he'd learned on had been a little bit different; for example, it did not have the built-in function of being able to levitate objects. He'd had to use the PDD—or Personal Defensive Device—for that. He'd asked Clifford once, why he could not have just combined the ability to shoot portals with the other functions of the PDD, but Clifford had just laughed and said that if the PDD were any more complicated, it wouldn't fit on his arm.

It was fair enough. He had already designed the PDD to wirelessly manipulate the compound signature that a portal would bind to, anyways, making virtually any flat surface portal-able when used in conjunction with an Aperture-made portal device. He supposed this was enhancement enough.

This was why, when Eckley found himself captured by the omniscient AI and first in line for testing, he had not panicked. He was ready, and fully planned to give the AI exactly what she deserved.

What he had not counted on, however, was that the AI would be so thoroughly— _pleased_ —by that fact.

"Aaaoohhh, I—well done, _subject name here_ ," she'd very obviously _moaned._

"Did you just—?" Eckley looked at the button he'd just compressed with the cube, equal amounts horrified and intrigued.

"That was nothing," said the AI, and was it just him, or did she sound— _drained_? "You have performed admirably. Please proceed to the chamberlock."

Eckley had done as she'd asked, scratching his head in disbelief.

The following chambers had been similar. Not sure of what to make of the situation, he'd been keeping as strictly to the guidelines as he could and had not used the PDD yet. The chambers were still somewhat easy so there was no real good reason to use it, and if he was honest, he did have a little morbid curiosity about the noises she'd make whenever he finished and was worried they would not happen if he used the PDD.

It was… well, it didn't sound like the sort of thing he should be eavesdropping on, but his hands were tied… not that he minded much. He'd even sniggered quietly as he'd solved the last one.

Then, he'd reached a chamber that was the most difficult he'd seen yet. Acid pit, thermal discouragement beam, cube-and-button, check check check—Eckley was growing tired and impatient. There was still the matter that he had been split from the rest of his group—though he was sure that they were all okay wherever they were, time was wearing on and they needed to do something about it. They could not stay here forever.

Feeling the pressure, he decided to go ahead with the PDD and cheat. "All right, GLaDOS," he muttered under his breath with a devilish grin, "let's see how good you feel after this."

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

When she first saw it, she didn't believe it was real. She thought that somehow, the reward from the testing protocols must be causing her to hallucinate; it wouldn't be unprecedented. But alas no, she knew it must be real because the panels were picking up on it, too.

A portal had materialized where no portal should have been; right smack-dab in the middle of portal-resistant panels. It had been the panels' signal of agitation and distress that had alerted her to the phenomenon—this was really happening.

She watched as the test subject shot the adjacent portal on yet another portal-proof surface and it sent a shock of disturbed outrage through her.

" _Test subject name here,_ I demand you tell me how you are doing that. This is not a game, and that is against testing protocols. I command you to stop. So _stop._ "

Predictably, he did not answer, and continued to do it. She watched, feeling more and more static charge build up in her anger and helplessness. This was _not_ how Science was to be done. Perhaps there should have been less static in her system, considering she ought to be building up a resistance to the solution euphoria soon, but she felt so _angry_ … he really _was_ cheating! Only the protocols kept her from forfeiting the test subject and squashing him with a pair of crushers. At this point, doing so might have qualified as being as satisfying as a burst of solution euphoria, so it was a hard decision… but in the end, her thirst for Science and disturbing enjoyment of watching what he was _doing_ won out. It was much like picking a scab—she knew it was gross and painful and disgusting to watch and it really wasn't Science, but something inside her just didn't want to stop. She'd knew how good it would feel when he was finished.

Unless… unless it wasn't him. Unless it was actually something wrong with _her_ and that was the reason why he could suddenly cheat _._ Had something happened, when she'd received the euphoria? Had it messed with the tests somehow?

That was impossible. And yet, she had thought she'd never feel the testing rewards again… and that even being transferred out of her body and back into it would not do it… she had been wrong before. Could she be wrong again?

It wasn't until she saw him do something even more uncanny and unacceptable that she knew for sure that it was not an oversight of her own or a hiccup or glitch in her system. He had used the device on his left wrist to shoot a laser into the thermal discouragement beam receptor. And what was more, it had _worked._

 _How_ he had done it, she did not know. It was downright _impossible_ —the system was not designed to accept anything but an Aperture Science thermal discouragement beam! But she could do little more than feel absolutely astonished before he'd finished the test and both the reward protocols and the anti-cheating protocols kicked on at exactly the same time and the heady, incoming rush of stimulus had been so much that she'd shrieked loudly and crashed.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

The power surge had zapped through the entire facility. Clancey and Hadley were both working hard in the service stairwell when it hit. They'd just been about to test their machine—which took up most of the topmost landing—when the overhead lights flickered and the everlasting thrum of generated electrical power and moving components ceased.

Hadley swore loudly. "Shit! Did we blow something?"

Clancey had looked immediately up at the ceiling in surprise. "No," he said in confusion. "I didn't even hit the button yet."

"Damn it. Where'r we gonna get our power source, then?"

Clancey had hardly had a moment to consider this before there was a great rushing roar as the facility rebooted itself and the lights switched back on.

"Excellent," Clancey grinned, and pressed the button, causing their great machine to whirr to life.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

That, thought GLaDOS, she had _not_ been expecting.

The double surge had crashed her. Nothing in the history of Aperture, aside from the mute lunatic, had _ever_ crashed her. She had not expected the effect of cheating—and as she remembered, she brought up the live feed from the test chamber in her brain— _cheating_!—to be so… _intense._

But god, if it weren't a particularly nice way to be crashed.

She'd meant to congratulate the test subject, who was waiting patiently in the elevator, on completing the test, but at that moment something else happened. She suddenly felt more utterly exhausted than she'd ever felt in her entire life. It was a swelling, spreading, consuming exhaustion that was fogging her very brain. She thought, at first, that it had been an effect of the overstimulus, that the power surge had physically damaged her and that was why she could hardly _think_ , but no—with a massive effort, she was able to diagnose the root cause of the problem as being an absolutely _huge_ draw of power from an external source.

Something monstrous and was sucking her energy, and she didn't have the resources to deal with it. She could not lift a panel. She literally could not defend herself in any way.

The chamber before her pitched and swam. Her world, her body, faded in and out of blackness. She was so, so tired… she wanted to sleep very badly… but she never, never engaged sleep mode… ever… she was scared…

For the second time in her life, GLaDOS had been beaten at her own game.

And that was terrifying.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	12. After Toast and Marmalade

Meta-Akira: thx for your comment. Yeah I'm from the west coast so a Michigan accent isn't exactly familiar to my ears :P I did have a friend who was from there and I remember hearing her voice and thinking, wow she's got an accent! But I can't remember what it sounded like, orz. And HMMM yeah I don't doubt it, ffnet keeps wanting to eat my documents and spit them back out. Literally. I didn't notice that one but I did notice some other places and also places where I made some minor errors of my own so at some point in time I'm going to have to go back and fix that

A note of my own: I mentioned in the opening note that this story was going to go in a Chelley direction. This is still true, but it will be a LOOOOOOONG time before we get to any semblance of a more-than-friendship kind of thing. If it wasn't already obvious, I like to take this kind of thing slow. Though this is mainly because, well... you will see. Like a SNAIL I am finally reaching a more main part of the story, but that is because there's just so many THIGNS. Plot is hard. What is writing. This is what happens when you have an idea stuck in your head for 4 years. Anyways:

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Twelve: After Toast and Marmalade**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

Chell awoke during the cold hours of the morning. The rain from the previous night had dissipated, leaving the surrounding house so silent and still that it was hard to imagine that it was full of people. Beside her, Wheatley was sleeping. His breath was slow and easy and for a little while, she lay beside him, watching. His chest rose and fell peacefully with each breath.

Once again, she felt incredibly comforted and homely. It was almost strange to know that Wheatley had been the one resting beside her for the entire night. While she was asleep, she was at her most vulnerable, and her awareness of this had changed something in the way she felt about him in just a few minutes. She realized that she no longer perceived him as a threat.

She thought about waking him but, remembering the one-sided conversation he'd had with her last night, she decided against it. It had been a lot more personal than she could have anticipated, and part of her was sure that Wheatley would not have been so open with her, had he been in a right state of mind. She almost wanted to go without mentioning the situation again—the fact that he'd been drunk at the time had not bothered her then, but it did now. Wheatley had always had problems with saying one thing, and then turning around and immediately doing another. She knew that his apology had come from his heart, but he was very talented at making mistakes, and she had no way of knowing for sure whether or not he'd sell her out again. It seemed the sort of thing that he would do, even if just by accident, and she had to be wary of that fact even if she had forgiven him.

She could not trust him.

Breathing a deep sigh, she listened to the chirping song of morning birds outside of the window and brushed Wheatley's tangly sandy hair up off his forehead. Then, she sat up, careful not to wake him, and slipped out from under the sheets. It was only once she'd reached the door that she looked back, a look of bittersweet wistfulness on her face. Maybe, one day, she'd be able to put her full faith back in him. Maybe they'd be great friends. But for now—it was enough that he had apologized, and that she had forgiven him. It was a miracle that they could tolerate each other well enough to function well as teammates again and live under the same roof.

Chell closed the bedroom door quietly and tip-toed into the hallway. There were two doors that separated their rooms, one which led to a single bedroom and another which led to one of the first-floor bathrooms. She eyed the door to the bathroom thoughtfully and decided that she'd really enjoy a hot shower. After the events of the previous night, her eyes were irritated and her face felt greasy from the make-up Ann had covered her with, and she still smelled faintly of perfume.

She returned to her room to grab a towel and a toothbrush and was delighted to see that Felix had returned her jumpsuit to her room as per Ann's request. Making a mental note that she'd have to return the flowery sundress she'd borrowed back to Ann, Chell collected the items she'd need and headed for the shower.

The sound of the tap turning on and the heavy spout of water that poured into the tub made the first noise of the day. All around her, The Johnson House was still sleeping, for quite a lot of its occupants had been drinking last night and breakfast was not to be served until eight o'clock; the small clock radio in Chell's room had shown her that it was only ten past six.

That meant that she had only slept for five hours, which was not much, considering that most people required eight hours of sleep to feel well-rested; but there was something about this place that made her feel like she didn't need to sleep as much as she normally would have. It was very different from the adrenal vapor that filled the hallways and chambers of Aperture; it was somehow extremely wholesome and fulfilling. It made her feel refreshed by simply being awake.

She set the shower to steaming hot and stepped inside. This was another thing she loved about the world she'd found herself in—during her time in Aperture, she had had no time to even think about how nice it would feel to be able to do something as simple and relaxing as have a hot shower, let alone try one. But here—she could take as much time as she needed. Chell closed her eyes blissfully and let the hot water stream over her face and down her back. Even breathing in the steamy air was therapeutic.

Once she had finished, she toweled off and returned to her room to dress in her clean jumpsuit. Distantly, she could hear the first occupants of the house beginning to wake. Soon, the smells of a hearty breakfast cooking would be wafting through the hallways, she knew… and as she thought of this, the same feeling she'd had yesterday when Ann had finished her make-up and had made her stand in front of the mirror came over her again. It was a filling, swelling sensation, like her chest was being expanded with happiness and comfort from the inside out. Her very heart itself felt happy.

She immediately felt like going and finding something comfortable and quiet to do in the common areas of the house. Her desire to attempt to take part in conversation was not high; she only desired to watch them, to hear the distant sounds of human interaction, to observe. Her eyes lingered briefly on her long-fall-boots as she headed toward the door. It had been custom for her to wear her boots inside of the house for the last few days; but she was starting to notice that during the more casual moments, most of the occupants of the house seemed to forgo their footwear.

At first, Chell had not thought too much about this. She had worn her boots, because to her, it was just a natural thing, something she was used to. She would never have taken off her shoes inside of Aperture. But slowly, she was learning about humanity and their tiny little habits day by day, and she felt like it was of great importance that she try her best to mirror them. She wanted to belong, after all.

So, she decided to leave the shoes. Clad in plain white socks, Chell crept down the hallway into the entrance hall and turned left into what was the main library-slash-study-slash-sitting-room. It felt weird, to walk through the hallways in just socks—she was so used to relying on her long-fall-boots. It was a mark of how at home Chell felt that she was okay with not wearing them.

The study was empty. The whispery curtains that were usually shrouded over the picture window had been drawn back and Chell found herself captivated by the view. Looking down The Johnson House's sloping green manicured lawn, it ended abruptly at a steep embankment that ran alongside a narrow but rapidly flowing river. This sparkled pale blue against the rapidly coloring sky above, and on its further bank resided the outer reaches of Lunar City. Closest were the low shapes of houses whose occupants were just beginning to wake, twenty-four-hour grocers with early-morning-empty parking lots and even an inviting strip mall with a rainbow of brightly lit signage and wide window displays. Behind these tiered a wall of blocky, brick apartments and split-level condos with steam spiraling out of their chimneys. Lonely balconies, dingy sleeping windows and vine-covered fire escapes were topped by rooftop gardens, and distantly—partially blanketed in mist but glinting majestically—loomed the business and financial district.

The first vestiges of dawn had already hit the tops of the highest towers wherever shadows from the partly-cloudy sky did not fall. The sun rose from behind The Johnson House and it hit the glass sides of these towers in a dazzling array of square-paned reflections, all except for one—the tallest and most imposing of the lot remained charcoal-black even against the brightest rays of sunlight.

Chell blinked peeled her eyes away from this impressive sight and turned her attention to a nearby bookshelf instead. The city was beautiful, but she was still sleepy and suddenly felt that it would be very nice to read a book. She could not exactly remember any she'd read previously, but she had the distinct suspicion that she used to love to read. Selecting a hardcover from the bookshelf at random, she curled up on the nearest squashy loveseat and switched on the adjacent reading lamp.

She became so engrossed in what she was reading that she lost track of time. Before she knew it, the sun had risen properly on Lunar City and its surroundings and there was the sound of many voices coming from the kitchen and dining room. Chell marked her place and in her book just as a tousled-haired Wheatley came in.

"'Morning, Chell," said Wheatley through a yawn with something much less than his usual excitement. His face was pale. "Hey, Doug says breakfast is ready, if you'd like something to eat…"

He left, and Chell hopped up off the couch and followed him into the dining room. Wheatley immediately sat down at the head of the table and laid his head down on its cool surface with a groan. A half-empty glass of water was in front of him.

Doug Rattmann, Jose, and another man Chell recognized as Clifford's lead scientist, Marcus, were all seated around him. They all said good morning to her in turn, which she acknowledged with a smile and sat down.

"It will be an interesting day, today," Doug informed her. He eyed her over his coffee cup as he drank deeply.

"Ja, count zis as your last days of peace, ay?" said Jose sleepily, looking like he'd like to have gone back to bed just as much as Wheatley.

"Speak for your own self," Doug replied. "I may attend the meetings, but I am not officially a member of your Coalition. You know that."

Chell cocked her head inquisitively at Doug. So, she was not the only one after all who had so far refused the offers to join, then?

Picking up on what she was thinking, Doug explained. "To be a member, you have to carry out assignments," he said with a sad smile. "I didn't want to join because of my mental disability. I also did not want to because I didn't want to go back into Aperture after what had happened, and I know so little about Lunar City so it would be difficult for me to be of any help… I did manage to help Clifford a lot when it came to Aperture, though, and Mayor Jacobs—whom you met last night—appreciates it nonetheless. They trust me. I'm just not active in it all enough to be considered a part of it. I also don't agree with everything The Coalition has done."

"You lying," Jose said as he slurped his own cup of coffee. "You as much belong as me and Ann."

Chell was thinking about what Doug had said. She could really understand why he felt uncomfortable being directly involved. It was the same for her—no matter how at home she felt here, she, Wheatley, and Doug would always be outsiders. They had not been born and raised in Lunar City, they did not know its secrets—their area of expertise was Aperture.

She also agreed with him in that she did not fully endorse everything they had been doing. She did not know why anyone in their right mind would have wanted to steal from Aperture Science, and she did not like it. She had not asked too many questions, as it really did not concern her, but she felt curious… perhaps the topic would be addressed during the meeting.

There was a disruption as Felix poked his head out of the kitchen to announce that breakfast was ready. By this time, a few more of The Coalition had joined them. She made her way into the kitchen to find that it felt a lot smaller inside when it was full of people. A large, buffet-style table was in the center of the room, piled with clean dishes, cutlery, and _food._

Chell grabbed a plate and began to look around, unable to decide what to try first. There was of course a plate of bacon and a plate of sausages apiece; stacks upon stacks of fluffy, buttermilk pancakes, some filled with small round blue pieces that she was informed were blueberries; a bowl of cubed hash-browns, and a tray of interesting looking golden brown squares that Chell guessed had to be waffles sitting beside a jug of heated syrup. A leaning tower of toast was threatening to topple over right into the butter; there were five surrounding flavors of jams and finally, a platter yielding eggs cooked in every way imaginable. On a side-table was where the hot water, coffee, and a mix of flavors of tea and pitchers of orange juice had been placed.

Chell tried a little of everything, and it was all delicious. Over breakfast not much was said for everyone's mind was full of the prospect of the coming meeting—both Clifford and Mayor Jacobs were missing, presumably busy with preparations. She looked around the dining room table as she ate—present was Ann, Jose, Doug, Wheatley, Marcus, and a group seated with him that had to be his fellow scientists. How many more would attend the meeting, she wondered? There had been a lot of guests at the party, but she knew for a fact that not all of them would go. Like the twins, Brayden and Bradley, for one. Clifford had said the key members of The Coalition only and important guests.

She'd finished eating before everybody else and had excused herself. It was eight thirty, and the meeting wasn't to start until ten. She meant to go straight back into the study alone and read until it was time as a way to avoid the jitteryness that was growing in the pit of her stomach (breakfast had helped squash it out only a little bit), but she found herself accompanied by none other than Wheatley, who hadn't had the appetite to do more than pick at his eggs.

"I wanted to say, thank you," said Wheatley as Chell flopped down into the loveseat unceremoniously, and he squeezed in at the end of it. "For last night. For… for not leaving, and- and everything. I- I know that you didn't have to stay."

She had been wondering how long it would take for him to talk about the events of the previous night. He seemed ashamed, almost embarrassed; Chell noticed that he was talking to his feet. Watching him from overtop her book, she could make out tear-tracks etched on the side of his face from when he'd been crying.

"That was nice of you," he said quietly. "It really was rather nice. And I- I did mean everything I said. You know that, right?"

He looked up, but Chell continued to hide behind her book. She only inclined her head a fraction of an inch to show that she was indeed listening—she didn't want him to think that she was _totally_ ignoring him…

"Good. And… this morning when I woke up, you were gone, right, and I lied there for a long time, thinking about it. Wondering about how on earth I'd ever make it up to you. And, well, I had, uh, a bit of an idea…"

The shifty way in which he'd said this caught her attention at once. He stretched awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand while his eyes rolled over to Chell, and she immediately looked back down at her book.

"I thought, maybe…" Wheatley continued apprehensively, as though he thought she was going to reject him without a second thought, "As we're both stuck out here, in this new world, you and I, without knowing too much about it… I mean, we know about _here_ now, and all that, _this_ place, but what about—what about out _there_?"

He was gesturing toward the picture window, where Lunar City was glowing molten gold against the morning sun. "We could go down there," he continued, his excitement mounting as his hesitation melted away. "To ol' Lunar City, or whatever it's called. Not now, not now, not today, but someday—maybe we could, just the- the two of us, go out there and explore."

Quite forgetting to hide behind her book, she looked up to see him staring at her with big round, hopeful eyes.

"B-but if you don't want to… I understand." He could not hold her gaze and instead looked back into his lap. "I do. I really do. Might be beneficial, to go with someone who- who knows where to go. Probably- probably is beneficial, actually. If I'm honest. I don't know why you'd pick me, but I'm asking anyways. So how 'bout it, then?"

Chell thought for a moment. It was a kind of nice thing for him to offer, really… she'd never been down to the city yet, even though she'd heard so much about it. It would be nice, on the next sunny day where they didn't have things to do, to just go down and explore and see what city life was really like. And, contrary to what he believed, she found she did like the idea of it being just the two of them. Sure, the other members of The Johnson House could show them around, but Chell was a very capable woman who could find her way around a map and this way, she wouldn't have to showcase to everybody exactly how socially primitive she really was.

She looked at Wheatley and smiled.

"R-really?" he gasped, shocked. "Oh- oh, wow! That's amazing. I didn't think you'd want to. You- you do, though? Seriously? You're not joking?"

She let out a huff of half-annoyed, half-genuinely amused laughter, flaring her nostrils. So it was settled, then… they would be going on a different kind of adventure together, for once. A pleasant one. It sure would be weird, she thought to herself. They were the two biggest misfits in miles, but it only made sense that they had to stick together because of it.

But for now, the rest of her free time before the start of the meeting was ticking away and Chell wanted to get back to her book. She tapped the cover of it and gave Wheatley an apologetic, but pointed, look.

"Right, right, right," he muttered. "You're reading, then? Books. Um… I think you want to be alone, when you do that. But I'll- I'll see you later, right? At the meeting?"

Sighing in slight exasperation, she leaned forward and rubbed the side of his arm reassuringly.

He apologized nervously once more and left, leaving her to her peace and quiet. Chell tucked back into her book, a strange sense of pleased accomplishment and simultaneous loneliness at his departure filling her stomach. Once again, her feelings toward him were changing. It didn't make any sense to her, but she just shrugged to herself and continued reading.

It was a new thing, having a friend, she thought. There was bound to be some brand new feelings that came along with it. Especially if it was a roller-coaster, train wreck of a friendship like theirs was.

Chell smiled fondly to herself.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	13. The Problem At Hand

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Thirteen: The Problem At Hand**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

It felt like no time at all had passed before it was nearly ten o'clock, and all of the most important members of The Coalition had crowded around the pair of chestnut double doors that led into the ballroom. Chell had reluctantly left her book in the study as she was dragged upstairs by a very exuberant Wheatley. Apparently he'd never been in on anything as exciting as a meeting before, and he couldn't keep still because of it. It made sense; the last thing the Aperture scientists would have wanted was the Intelligence Dampening Sphere hanging around, she thought.

Her own feelings on the matter were jittery anticipation and nervousness at not knowing what to expect. She was also beginning to feel self-conscious about her lack of communication skills again. She wished for the dozenth time that her vocal cords had not been damaged while she was in cryosleep. It would have made everything so much easier for her.

It was extremely wearing to be asked questions that she had no ability to answer all the time. It wasn't like she wanted to go around continually keeping a notepad and pen in her pocket and rudely ignoring everyone when she didn't, but she really had no alternative. And here she was, about to walk into this important meeting, a meeting that she had a vague, lurking suspicion would concern her a lot more than she was led to believe—where she would undoubtedly be asked a million questions she had difficulty answering at the best of times.

For she knew that Clifford had asked her and Wheatley to sit in on the meeting because of their history with Aperture; they were the sole eyewitnesses of GLaDOS's reactivation and really, whether she liked it or not, The Coalition's business concerned both her and Wheatley deeply. Their stories had all been woven together, somehow; and it was up to her to hold her head high and march in there with all the confidence in the world to tell her tale. She owed Clifford that, after all—he had been very hospitable towards her, far more hospitable than she had imagined anyone in this new world would ever be.

And with that, the ballroom doors were thrown wide by none other than Felix, and The Coalition clustered on the threshold began to make their way inside one by one.

The ballroom had changed very much from how it had looked on the previous night, Chell noticed. The cluttered, messy aftermath of the party had been cleared away, as had the quaint little round tables they'd sat at and the fancy chairs. The table that had held the food had also been taken back downstairs, although the beverage bar remained; its crystal wineglasses had been washed and stowed neatly upside-down into the rack hanging above the countertop. There were just two more main changes: one, all of the velvet-burgundy curtains had been closed to block out daylight and, two; a massive table now sat in the middle of the room, running the length of the oak dancefloor. It was polished and shiny and set with sixteen matching straight-backed chairs. Its surface had already been cluttered by handouts, pens, graph paper, binders and notebooks, blueprints of at least two separate buildings, paperweights, and a modern overhead projector connected to a plain black laptop. A blank fabric screen had been drawn down from the ceiling, which was tinged bright electric blue from the projector's lens.

Near the center of the table sat Clifford and Mayor Jacobs, who had been deep in conversation mere moments before the group arrived. "Welcome," said Clifford distractedly, shuffling a stack of papers. "Have a seat, anywhere you'd like."

Chell opted to sit in the least-conspicuous seat she could find. She ended up choosing the very end of the table on the opposite side from Clifford, and Wheatley sat promptly beside her. Next came Ann, Jose, and four men, some of whom were chiseled and olive-skinned with young faces like Jose was, and some who looked more like Wheatley, pale and flimsy. They all chose seats along the same side.

Doug was the first to come and sit across from her. He smiled warmly at her as Jammers sat beside him—Jammers had brought with him the two of his companions from the previous night, named Ryan and Henry. This made up their end of the table; and at the far side, Chell could see Marcus beside a man whom she had only glimpsed before, who was bespectacled and balding and was having a lively conversation with the Mayor.

The ballroom was filled with the sound of curious chatter as everyone said hello to each other and looked down at the photocopied agendas that had been placed in front of every seat. Wheatley had immediately seized his own and, halfway through reading it, had elbowed Chell in the ribs and pointed down at hers. She pulled this toward her. It said:

 _7_ _th_ _assembly of The Coalition_ _  
August 24_ _th_ _, 2031  
The Johnson House, 2130 East Access Rd, Lunar City  
Meeting Agenda and Minutes_

 _10:00 – Opening and introduction to The Coaliton  
10:10 – Member/guest introductions and information  
10:55 – Update concerning Aperture Science_

 _11:40 – 12:40 Lunch_

 _12:40 – Update concerning the Core Project  
1:30 – Assignment A  
2:30 – Assignment B  
3:30 – Conclusion_

When she finished reading, she put down the paper, feeling interested in spite of herself. Beside her, Wheatley was squinting down at his own paper in confusion.

"What's the Core—?" Wheatley began to ask, but he broke off a second later as Clifford cleared his throat and raised a hand for silence. The room slowly quieted, until the only noise that could be heard was Doug's occasional dry cough. Everyone was listening carefully.

"Thank you," began Clifford, looking at each of them in turn. "Firstly, Mayor Jacobs and I would like to thank all of you for meeting with us today. We are both extremely pleased that all of you could come! And on such notice, too. I was deeply sorry that I had to inconvenience some of you by pulling you all away from your life and your jobs."

Chell saw him nod purposefully in the direction of Ann and Jose, and the four men whom Jose seemed to know the best out of everyone. Suddenly, she felt rather silly for not asking any of them about what they did; they were not like Jammers and Doug. They obviously had careers and lives elsewhere outside of The Coalition the majority of the time, and all she knew about them was that Ann had mentioned that they'd come from an area called Princetown.

"But as you can see by looking over the agendas in front of you," continued Clifford, and Chell tore her eyes away from the two siblings to watch him instead, "we have a lot to discuss here today. There have been many small events occurring within our jurisdiction over the past few weeks. While separately they may be meaningless, we know better than to consider these events to be coincidence, and have brought you all together today to inform you of them and to ask for your help with the foreseeable problems at hand."

He paused here, and Chell swallowed hard. She knew at least part of what he was referencing had to do with Aperture Science.

Next, Clifford addressed her and Wheatley. "But before we begin to discuss that, I'd like to say welcome to all of you, guests of new and old. The Coalition is co-chaired by Mr. Jacobs," Mayor Jacobs nodded once and waved his hand to show he was listening, but he was too busy organizing his pile of notes to look up, "and myself. What exactly it is we do—well, to those of you who don't know, you shall see.

"Now, secondly, as we have a few new members among us whom you all have not met, I would like us all to take a few moments to introduce ourselves by name and state a little of what we do for The Coalition. I'll start. I am Clifford Johnson, and I am the head of a very talented research and development team that resides inside of The Johnson House's private laboratory, as well as appointed overseer of the Lunar City Special Forces Team, Elite Squadron, and owner of Aperture Science Laboratories as well as all the land that exists above it."

Chell had been listening somewhat groggily with her head propped up on her chin, but Clifford's words had snapped her back into reality. Her elbow slipped on the table as her jaw dropped—Clifford, _owner_ of Aperture? She knew he'd had strong ties to the company, but he had neglected to mention… he had never said…

It explained everything. It must have been why they'd felt comfortable enough to venture inside of the facility to explore, to steal… because technically, they weren't stealing or trespassing. According to the laws that dictated right from wrong in their own world, they had committed no crime, so why should they care? Everybody thought GLaDOS was dead, anyways.

But the fact of the matter was that GLaDOS was _not_ dead, and Chell was personally very sure that she would not see their actions as being excusable. GLaDOS knew no master, and allowed no one to walk freely through her facility, picking and choosing at parts of it as they liked as though it were a casual stroll through an auto wrecker. No, GLaDOS enslaved the humans, it was not the other way around—and the last time any human being had tried to control her, she had killed them horribly. It was lucky for The Coalition that GLaDOS probably had no inkling whatsoever that she was not the rightful owner of Aperture Science.

Chell was brought back to her senses by Mayor Johnson standing up next. Once again, she felt a rush of impatience and resentment towards the man, although she had no idea why; except for the fact that he was one of the dullest and irritatingly self-righteous people she'd ever met.

"Oh, you all know me," he laughed while he waved his hands as if to stave off a fly. "Do I really have to introduce myself, Clifford? Isn't that a bit—? Ah, no matter—for those of you who don't know, I am George Jacobs, Mayor of Lunar City and founder of The Coalition, and creator of the Core Project and sole person responsible for its inception."

There were those words again—the Core Project. She had only a moment to wonder about this before the rather squat bald man seated beside the Mayor started to speak.

"Um, hello," he said shyly in a squeakyish voice. "I'm Jeffrey Trethewey, Mayor Jacob's personal assistant and current manager of the Core's team of specialists." From behind his glasses, he looked around and nodded respectfully to the six seated on the other side of the table.

Next, the six he'd acknowledged introduced themselves one by one. "Name's Matthew Synder," said the first man, who was darker than even Jose and spoke in a very deep, steady voice. "I'm an architect, I was in charge of building design and structural engineering for the Core Base."

He sat back down, and the palest man with bright red, flaming hair who was seated beside him stood instead. "Richard Silva, computer science, specifically cryptography. I speak the language of Core Base."

On and on it went. Johnny Kent was next, a heavyset African American man with a thick voice and bright eyes. "Therodynamics. Designed the heat engine that fuels that baby. I like big, hot machines," he chuckled to himself.

"I'm Ray smith, computer engineering and robotics. I designed the androids and the Core itself, which were both completed as of two weeks ago now."

A few people whistled and clapped their hands at this. "Nice one, Ray!" exclaimed the man who had identified himself as Richard. Ray bowed respectfully at his comrade and sat back down.

Next, it was Jose's turn to introduce himself. "Jose Armal," he said in his thick accent with the usual lazy scowl. "Electrical engineer and for za Core system and ze surrounding buildings."

"And I'm Ann Armal," said Ann promptly. "I'm a telecommunications engineer, I dasigned tha broadcasting systems for tha Core."

Wheatley nearly panicked when it was his turn. "What do I do, what do I say," he demanded helplessly under his breath before he realized that every eye was on him. "Oh, um, hi," he said more loudly in a trembling voice, "I'm Wheatley. I… I was, er—well I guess I'll just have to come out and say it, then, yeah? Well, here goes nothing. Until last week, I was a robot. Now I'm a human. Um." He looked sideways at Chell for help as the surrounding room became even quieter and more still—you could practically hear a pin drop—but none came.

"We're from Aperture Science," Wheatley continued valiantly, panting a little as he fought to control his nerves. "We—Chell and I, that's her name—escaped from there. Escaped from… from _her_."

A murmur of interest went through the table at this, and when he'd stopped talking, it was the man called Jeffrey who spoke next. "What do you mean, you _came from Aperture Science_? What do you mean by _her_? I demand to know—"

"Silence, please," said Clifford, and although the voice he had used was not loud, silence fell immediately. "I pray that you will be able to wait only a short while, Jeffrey, while we let the remaining guests introduce themselves… I promise you, all of your questions will be answered before too long."

Jeffrey looked embarrassed and lowered himself back into his seat at once. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It is no problem," said Clifford politely. "Now—let's continue with Doug."

Doug presented himself as an ex-employee of Aperture Science and Chell breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She had gotten off easy, not being asked to introduce herself, although she mostly had Wheatley to thank for that—she made a mental note to let him know how grateful she was as soon as possible.

The group finished with Jammers and his comrades. Chell learned, as she had already guessed, that the three of them were members of the Lunar City Special Forces, as were the missing members of their group—Jammers rounded off the list of the missing individuals as being Silver 'Chief' Clancey, Brandon Hadley, Will 'Worms' Fortley, Jake Parker, Walter Eckley, and Nick Warner. Then, before anyone could comment or ask why they were not present, Clifford spoke again.

"Now that we have all been properly introduced," he said, taking a sip from his glass of water, "it is imperative that we move on to the first, real phase of our meeting. Time is ticking, and there are so many matters to discuss, each as important as the next… first and foremost, I will recount all of the events of this week that have been directly related to Aperture Science."

Chell swallowed hard, feeling suddenly as if she were in a bright spotlight as all eyes flashed briefly toward her before turning back to Clifford. This was it… he was going to tell her story. He was going to share with all of them where she had come from, what she was doing there, and that she had next to no memory of her past life.

It wasn't that she was ashamed, exactly; what really bothered her about it was that Chell was a very private person, and at first, she had very much hoped that what had happened in the facility between her, GLaDOS, and Wheatley, would be kept a secret. She didn't want any extra attention or sympathy for what had happened, nor did she want to be thought of as a freak. She was most content with these people knowing nothing about her past, because the only parts of it that she remembered herself were horrific and she had fully meant to leave them behind once she'd stepped out of that grubby little tin shed.

It was her chance to start over. This world was different, and she didn't want to mix up the two if she could help it.

But it could not be helped, apparently.

A tense silence had settled into the room when Clifford had mentioned Aperture Science; she could feel the anticipation and expectance in the air itself. A sure enough, when Clifford continued, her and Wheatley's names were mentioned first.

"I know all of you are very interested to know how Chell and Wheatley came to be here today," he was saying. "But the story starts with last Monday, when Marcus had informed me that some of our laboratories' monitoring instruments had received a signal coming from inside of the dormant facility."

A noise of interest spread across the table. "Vat did it contain?" asked Jose, unable to help himself.

"It is hard to explain," said Clifford slowly. "It was not an encrypted message, or anything of the sort. It was, quite simply, a kind of digital summons. A computerized request, if you will, to any surrounding sentient—or so I am guessing—equipment, commanding it to mobilize at once."

"But that must mean," said the man called Richard, "That the Core—I mean, this AI—is still at least partially functional, if only functional enough to broadcast a Command, then?"

"Precisely what I suspected," said Clifford, pleased they were catching on. "Though I did not know how such a thing could happen. So, naturally, I called Mayor Jacobs. I had a few different reasons for doing so, some of which we will get to later—the most important of these being I wished to ask his permission to send the Elite team back into Aperture to assess the situation."

"Which I accepted," added Mayor Jacobs promptly. "I wanted to be the first to know if anything suspicious was happening inside of that facility, and unknown signals definitely counted as something that needed to be investigated."

Clifford nodded, and then continued. "So, it was decided that we would send Clancey and his team back into Aperture one last time. They departed three days ago, and have not returned since."

"But please, Mistar Johnson," interrupted Ann, her forehead creased with worry, "Why haven't they returned?"

"I'm getting to that. I should have said, that none have returned aside from James, who arrived the morning following their departure with something none of us had expected—these two," he gestured to the two escapees, "Chell and Wheatley. I had reason to believe that they had come from the facility itself, and—after quite a long discussion—I learned that not only had I been correct in my assumption, but that the source of the mysterious signal had come from GLaDOS herself."

A few people around the table gasped "no!" at this, and one of Jeffrey's engineers said loudly, "I won't believe it! She was dead, Doug said he'd seen her killed himself!"

"Yes," sighed Clifford heavily. "She was. But I assure you, she is not dead anymore. This fact is not that much of a concern in itself—it may even be for the better—but what is more concerning to me is that I currently have five men trapped within Aperture Science who need assistance immediately."

Chell, who was currently very grateful that Clifford had skipped over the more personal details of her story, knew well who he was talking about. She felt a rather painful pang in her heart for the five men… she was still convinced that it was her fault, somehow. If only she had just told them that GLaDOS was still alive, they would have had no need to go in.

But at least Clifford had finally admitted that they were in trouble and needed help. It sounded like he wanted to send someone back in, but _How_ on earth he thought they were going to be able to help, she did not know… GLaDOS would surely capture them. Did the old man really think that they could just waltz up to the facility and politely ask for them back, and that she'd release them just because they'd asked so nicely?

"And so we come to the first of the series of problems that have been weighing on my mind," said Clifford, breaking Chell's train of thought. "While Silver Clancey's team is far from defenseless, I was very worried nonetheless and had sent out Ryan and Henry as scouts… they returned yesterday evening with no news that I had not been expecting, but by that time I had already received the signal from Clancey that I had been waiting for anyways, so it did not matter."

"And what was that, Sir?" asked Jammers. "Chief did seem pretty confident he didn't have to worry about anything bad happening, but when he didn't return, it seemed pretty fishy to me. And now that I know that this GLaDOS-thing is the reason why…" he whistled lowly and shook his head. "You sure they're okay?"

"Oh, yes," Clifford replied happily. "Yes, I'm very sure, now… you see, Mr. Clancey borrowed something from me when he ventured into the facility three days ago now. It was one of my more brilliant creations, partially Marcus and his team's ingenious design… Mr. Clancey was carrying on him a miniature, aluminum broadcasting machine capable of transmitting pure electricity itself—in fact, twelve times the amount of power that it would take to operate every electric device inside of this house for twelve hours simultaneously. I trained Mr. Clancey myself on how to use the WPT—or, Wireless Power Transmitter, as it's called—and it is with this he was to subdue GLaDOS. In theory, if the WPT were to be plugged into a high-voltage socket close enough to her central chamber, such as one of the many maintenance panels located in various areas of the facility, it should continually draw enough power from GLaDOS's mainframe to render her incapable of defending herself or injuring any of our dear friends."

A few of the scientists whistled, but Chell was shaking her head. It sounded impractical—and absolutely _insane_ —and even if this _thing_ that Clifford had created functioned properly and they _were_ able to draw enough of GLaDOS's power to knock her more or less offline, how did they know that it wasn't going to destabilize the facility, or worse? Add in the fact that it would most likely just make her even more murderous than she already was whenever she woke up, and Chell personally felt that the idea was not just madness, but also suicidal.

If there was ever a manual on how to get GLaDOS to want you dead, killing her or knocking her unconscious would be the number one most effective way to go about it, and she would know…

"I received confirmation that the WPT had been successful by way of the transmission itself—the power sucked from GLaDOS was being rerouted wirelessly to the Core electrical hub in central Lunar City, for it is the only station around capable of handling such a massive amount of energy. As for Aperture Science, it is now the safest it will be, and now is the time to enter the facility unhindered. Before we leave here today, I will appoint a task force who will infiltrate the Laboratories tomorrow at dawn and locate the five trapped members of Mr. Clancey's team, and rescue them."

Clifford paused here to check his watch, and the ballroom was silent momentarily. "Now, I think that is quite enough information for everyone to digest for now—perhaps having some sustenance will also help. I think it is just about time for lunch. The meal will be served downstairs in the kitchen for any of you who are hungry, and we will meet back here in one hour."

Many eyes flicked to the circular clock mounted high upon the wall above the bar. It was indeed eleven forty-five, and with the hair-raising scrape of many heavy chairs, well over half of the room made for the exit and headed down to lunch.

Chell, however, did not move.

"Aren't we going?" Wheatley asked her, halfway out of his own chair, but she shook her head. She had way too much on her mind to join the others downstairs just now, and she wanted to take full advantage of the empty ballroom to think deeply about what she'd just heard. She folded her hands in front of her and rested her chin on top of them, frowning and staring off into space.

"All right," Wheatley sighed, getting the hint. "I'll see you around, then."

He departed, leaving Chell alone with her thoughts.

What was bothering her the most was not her empty stomach. It was not the way that many of The Coalition had not ceased giving her inquisitive glances, clearly not having been satisfied by Clifford's explanation of her sudden appearance. It wasn't about the mysterious Core Project that everyone kept mentioning, either, and it was not even the way in which Clifford had managed to subdue GLaDOS, although that in itself was worrisome.

It was what her gut was telling her to do that scared her.

Chell was going back to Aperture.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


	14. The Core

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

 **Chapter Fourteen: The Core**

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*

"Hey."

Wheatley plopped down unceremoniously into the empty seat beside her. He had brought from downstairs a heavy plate, containing a bacon and tomato sandwich, which he placed in front of her with a brave attempt at a smile.

"For you," he said, rubbing at his own stomach. "Man alive. I'm bloody _stuffed._ God, how come you never told me that human food tastes so _good_?"

Chell smiled and shook her head and shrugged, grabbing half of the sandwich and taking a bite. It wasn't like she'd previously known, either. Just like almost everything else about humanity, it had been one of those things that she felt like she had once known, but had no real accessible memories of.

The bacon sandwich was delicious. Halfway through, she got up to go and search for a glass behind the bar which she filled with cold water to quench her thirst. By the time she had sat back down, the rest of The Coalition had resumed their seats and Clifford was calling for silence once more.

"I hope you all enjoyed your lunch," he began pleasantly, smiling as murmurs of agreement were heard around the table as various guests massaged their full stomachs. "Because unfortunately, we still have a lot to discuss… but before we resume the topic of Aperture Science, let's first talk about the Core Project."

These words caused a stir. Ann and Jose, who had been having a silent argument over who was to get up and refill their glasses, stopped moving at once; a handful of the engineers seated beside them, who had been slouching sleepily in their seats, sat up straighter; Jeffrey straightened his glasses with interest and Mayor Jacobs, who had been shuffling through his notes, lowered them and fixed Clifford with a very serious expression.

"I have a lot I would like to say on the subject myself," Clifford continued seriously, "but I think the beginnings of the tale would be better told by the person whose story it is. Would you mind, Mayor—?"

"Right," mumbled Jacobs awkwardly, who turned at once to the laptop and began typing something. A second later, the overhead projector whirred to life and displayed the blown-up image of a newspaper headline dated two weeks previously. He cleared his throat sharply. "May I begin?" he asked.

"Of course. The floor is all yours."

While he fiddled some more with the laptop, Chell examined the article displayed upon the projector's screen. Beneath the thickly block-lettered title, there was a black-and-white photograph of Jacobs himself wearing a self-satisfied smile with his assistant by his side and two more members of his engineering team looking excited beside him. They were standing in front of a chain-linked, barbwire-topped gate. Beyond this was some kind of industrial-park-slash-factory-yard filled with semicircular-roofed hangars, stacks of storage barrels, iron grey shipping containers, and even the corner of what looked like an electrical substation. What drew her eyes most, however, was the building directly behind them; as black as fresh asphalt, it was a windowless pinnacle that rose harshly from the gravel lot. Much taller than the image could reveal, its slick-looking surface was broken by just two features; one, a plain pair of greyish steel doors and, two; a security camera aimed at this egress, watching with a single, glowing eye.

Tearing her eyes away from the image, Chell scanned the article quickly.

 _AI-BRIGHTER FUTURE: Mayor Reveals Ten-Year Plan Set To Revolutionize_

 _Mayor Jacobs met with officials last Monday to announce the completion of the last phase of what has widely become known as the Core Project. What started long ago as a single man's dream is now to become a reality—at nearly fifteen years since its inception, the supercomputer that will oversee the distribution and operation of the highly-anticipated PAIR(TM) Companions has been declared safely operational, and distribution of pre-purchased PAIR(TM) Companions is set to commence this coming Friday._

 _PAIR(TM) Companions, short for Personal Artificially Intelligent Robot Companions, are Lunar City's very own brand of life-like personal androids—capable of functioning as assistants, servants, lovers, and much more, PAIR(TM) Companions are built to last. The totally waterproof, weatherproof design is courtesy of the Core Team's patented SynthaFlesh(TM); an internal battery capable of holding a one-week charge that is compatible with both standard power outlets and USB devices guarantees a long-lasting life; and a near-infinite knowledge capacity and memory database is accessible through the constant wireless uplink each PAIR(TM) Companion shares with the Core supercomputer itself. With internal frameworks constructed from nearly indestructible stainless steel and the lifetime guarantee that comes with every SynthaFlesh(TM) custom model that boasts durability, weather-resistance and an authentic human sensation, PAIR(TM) Companions promise to be the leading android available on the US market today._

 _This trial run of PAIR(TM) Companions is exclusive to Lunar City residents only. "I am pleased to say we can provide as many as one PAIR(TM) Companion per household," said Mayor Jacobs, standing outside of the PAIR(TM) Companions factory and testing center on Monday. "The trial period is set to be for one month, in which we will closely monitor the operation of the Core system and a select group of PAIR(TM) Companions, and how they interact with their human owners. This is a very exciting event for Lunar City. We will be the fourth city now in the United_ _States to introduce an artificially intelligent android design for the public's personal use. We have proposed a ten-year plan to the State, detailing the improvements we would like to see in the surrounding state of Michigan and, eventually, the country as the PAIR(TM) Companions and Core system are proven to be a successful and worthwhile endeavour." (Continued on pg. 3)_

Chell tore her eyes away from this, thinking hard about what she had just read. So _that's_ what The Coalition had wanted the pieces of the facility for. They had robbed Aperture so that they could study its technology to see what it was that gave it its 'spark' of life and to recreate it, and eventually incorporate it into their own designs. They had even succeeded in building their own supercomputer AI, the basis of which Chell hoped very much had not been based on GLaDOS, so that they could send these things—these androids, robots, whatever—into the city resident's households, so that they could become slaves…

And the things had been deemed _safe_ enough to use and be sent into these people's homes where they _slept_ at night?! Was she really the only person around who saw several major problems with this? Either her experiences inside of Aperture were to blame for her lack of trust toward AIs, or she really was just a good deal smarter and more sensible than most people around…

Chell's eyes found Clifford, who was helping Mayor Jacobs find a missing document. _How_ could he have gone along with such a plan, she wondered? He knew what had been the fate of his brother's facility. He knew what the GLaDOS project had done, and that all of those innocent people had been murdered… so why had he gone along with it, and helped Mayor Jacobs create this AI? Furthermore, when was humanity ever going to learn from their mistakes and just _give up_ on creating artificial lifeforms?

"Ah," the Mayor sighed, having found the document he was looking for. "There we go. Okay. Got it. So."

The ballroom became silent, save for the rustle of Clifford pulling his notepad back toward him. Jammers took a loud gulp of water, and Jose scratched his nose, leaning his chair back on its hind legs while yawning hugely.

"All right," began the Mayor, sounding nervous. "Well, you all know the story of how The Coalition came to be, and how our team each led their own divisions in order to build the Core's facility and surrounding base. And if you don't, it's up there on the screen for you to read. I don't have time to go over it, and it wouldn't make interesting listening even if I did."

Finally, thought Chell, he had come to terms somewhat with the fact that he could be extremely dull to listen to at times. She could almost jump for joy—only, doing so would disturb the meeting, so she decided to save celebrating for another time.

"Anyways, the problem—well, I don't know if I'd even call it that. Everything was fine as of two weeks ago when this article," he used a laser pointer to indicate the projected image, "was published. We had the Core powered on for full systems check and monitoring over the course of a few days before this, and all of the PAIR-bots had been distributed that Friday without an issue."

He paused here to have a sip from his own glass of water. "But that following Monday, our observations picked up something strange. It was a really small change, almost meaningless… but a relatively tiny chunk of the Core's processing power seems to have disappeared altogether. We can't find a reason for it. It isn't because of the PAIR-bots, and it's a brand-new machine… but, as I mentioned to you previously, Clifford, if _we_ can't figure out the reason behind it, I doubt there even is one."

"As I mentioned to you last week, I would hardly say that it is no reason to worry, Mr. Jacobs," said Clifford respectfully, not looking up from his notes. "Given the circumstances that have happened near simultaneously—"

"Yes, yes, I know," said the Mayor in annoyance. He tapped his foot nervously on the ground. "Dear Clifford here thinks that the reactivation of GLaDOS—or, more precisely, the Command signal she sent out shortly after—affected some of our equipment, and may have, er… _disturbed_ the Core somehow."

"I have one question." said a voice that caught Chell off guard—Doug had been keeping very quiet this entire time. He addressed Mayor Jacobs with a deep frown etched on his lined face. "When you say that your AI was disturbed by GLaDOS's signal," he said strongly, "Do you mean to say that you hypothesize that, because their base design essentially comes from the same source, that your AI could not only understand the Command, but might also have felt some revelation that the signal had come from another artificially intelligent lifeform?"

The Mayor coughed dryly. "Yes and no. Clifford thinks so, and I mean I'd be a fool if I said I didn't think it had the capacity to decipher its meaning. _If_ it even received this supposed signal—none of our other instruments did."

This made Clifford look up from his notepad. "Ah," he said quietly. "But the signal that was sent out may not have been detectable by regular monitoring equipment. The specific algorithms detailed were very unique and I doubt that a supercomputer as intelligent as GLaDOS would broadcast such an important Command without having a way to ensure that unwanted 'listeners' could not 'hear' it. I think that GLaDOS was using a signature that only Aperture-based equipment could detect."

"That makes sense," said Doug.

"Yes, and moreover, I happen to know that the signal was only picked up on our equipment that we had created by using Aperture technology as a basis, and not machines of standard manufacture."

"Okay," continued Mayor Jacobs, clearly unnerved by this new piece of information, "So the only ones that can hear her are you and the Core, and only when she wants you to."

"Exactly."

Chell had been listening to all of this with rapt attention. Beside her, Wheatley wore an expression that clearly said that he had understood little of this; undoubtedly he'd be asking her to explain it all again later. Momentarily she ignored him, churning it all over in her mind as she listened.

"But you have to remember that the Core is not artificially intelligent in the same sense as this GLaDOS is," said Mayor Jacobs with the air of a man trying valiantly to defend himself. "If I remember the story right, Clifford, you said that she was created from a _human_ conscience? Hence the acronym, _Genetic Lifeform_ and Disk Operating System. Our AI is not human. It does not have a conscience, or a voice, or a personality… because it is just a brain with thousands of bodies to take care of. I doubt it makes any difference, whether or not GLaDOS's signal reached our mainframe."

"Are you sure?" asked Clifford, frowning. "You said yourself you don't know what caused the drop in processing power."

"Of course I'm—! What are you implying, I _designed_ , I would _know_ —"

But Mayor Jacobs broke off as Clifford held up his hand.

"We are not getting anywhere by arguing about this," he said, sounding tired for the first time. "We simply do not have enough information to know exactly what we are dealing with. Mr. Jacobs, I am sorry to say, but the last time I heard someone mention to me that they knew exactly what they were dealing with when it came to artificial intelligence, nothing short of a disaster occurred. This was why I had warned you many years ago to forget about artificial intelligence and refused to take part once I learned what you desired to do. But luckily, I was smart enough to realize that a man who has an idea too often becomes obsessed with it as you have, and I did not forget because I knew you would not, either."

The Mayor looked as though Clifford had just slapped him hard in the face.

"I agreed to help you because it would be beneficial for all of us if you had someone to watch over you. I knew you would not rest until you had built your Core and that you would find a way into Aperture Science, no matter how hard I tried to stop you. At least this way, I was able to monitor exactly how much and what kind of equipment you salvaged to build your machine. Otherwise, the results may have proven disastrous once again."

"B-but," stuttered the Mayor, slowly overcoming the shock of Clifford's harsh words. "I—"

"It does not matter anymore," Clifford cut over him, his voice full of disappointment. "What matters now is that we find out as much as we can about the situation—and I do mean the _entire_ situation—for I am very afraid that the reactivation of GLaDOS will have some kind of effect on your Core. What kind exactly, I cannot tell you, but I'm sure it will have one, as they are essentially siblings. I feel very uneasy about all of this."

"So do I," injected Doug. "My heart is telling me that this is not at all good news. I hope I'm wrong when I say that if GLaDOS could reach your AI by wireless signal, the process is most likely to be able to work in reverse and it may as well have already investigated wirelessly in return. Think about it. She would then know that we used her technology to build another machine, and I cannot imagine a less welcome influence on your AI than GLaDOS herself…"

The gravity of Doug's words spread through the room like an icy draught. Even Chell swallowed hard. That was the last thing they needed, for GLaDOS to discover all of this… everything that they had so foolishly done…

"It is decided, then," said Clifford finally. "Several of you will need to revisit the Core and do a thorough examination of its 'brain'. I want to know where this processing power has gone to, and it wouldn't hurt to redouble its firewall, either. Mayor, I trust you will lead your assistant and required engineers back to Lunar City this evening, and that you will report your findings back to me."

Jacobs sagged in his chair. "Yes, of course," he said defeatedly.

"Thank you. Now that Assignment A has been explained, all we have left is speculation… I wish to talk for a minute about what the worst-possible outcome of this situation may be. It's always helpful to be prepared for the worst… Doug? What say you about this?"

"Well," answered Doug. He took a long draught of water before continuing. "I would say, the worst-case scenario would be that GLaDOS could manipulate the Core, and by extension, gain control over these… androids. She may then use them to take the entire population of Lunar City hostage. Her primary function is testing—to her, it would mean yet more expendable human lives."

"Fair in point," said Clifford. "Could not have said it better myself. Now, I need your help," he nodded respectfully to all of the members of The Coalition, and then to the Aperture-escapees, "for I'm actually uncertain what the best way to proceed here is. I have a few ideas, but I would like to hear what you all have to say about this first."

The room filled with whispers as everybody put their heads together and discussed this. Chell, however, was motionless and ignored Wheatley when he leaned over into her ear and asked what she was thinking.

It was rather complicated, what was going through Chell's brain. So far, she had agreed wholeheartedly with almost everything Doug had said. Most of it, she didn't think she could have said better herself, even if she had a voice to communicate with.

Doug was the only other person at the table besides Wheatley who knew fully what GLaDOS was capable of, but that did not necessarily mean that he knew more about her than she did. Chell did not agree that GLaDOS would try to extend her rein of control outside of the facility; she was not the type of person who desired control for the sake of control in Chell's opinion.

GLaDOS was simple in her motives, swift in her execution, and endlessly brilliant. She was just too _smart_ to bother with the surface world, even if she had ran out of test subjects. It would pose a serious risk for her, to attempt to override the Core and seize control of Lunar City in such a way, and Chell personally thought that it was exactly the kind of drama that GLaDOS did not like; especially as she'd only just gotten rid of the most troublesome test subject she'd ever met. To start a potential war was just not her style. She liked simplicity and testing. She was tired of trouble.

Chell recalled the final words GLaDOS had said to her before she'd kicked her out of the facility. _You know what my days used to be like? I just tested. Nobody murdered me, or put me in a potato, or fed me to birds. I had a pretty good life. And then_ you _showed up. You dangerous, mute lunatic. So you know what? You win. Just_ go.

She had not recounted these words to Doug or Clifford. While she had recounted enough for them to understand the gist of what had happened, she had not gone into that great of detail. It seemed private, somehow; the last words the AI had spoken had carried a lot of meaning with them, and even now, she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

No, Chell was mostly certain that GLaDOS would not care about the goings-on outside of her facility, but it was also true that even she could not always foresee what GLaDOS would do. There were always variables. Purely guessing was not enough when the potential consequences were so troublesome. The best thing to do would be to set controls in place to make _sure_ the worst outcome could not happen. But how to do just that…

"I fink we haz an idea," came Jose's thick voice at length.

"Let's hear it, then!" replied Clifford pleasantly.

"We vere discussing," continued Jose, "Zis device zat you gave to Clancey. You say it make zis GLaDOS tired, ja? Vy not continue using zis, is already inside Aperture! She sleeps, and everything good, right! No problems."

"Ah," answered Clifford, looking suddenly solemn, "but there _is_ a problem with that, unfortunately. While even if we were to leave the device inside of the facility after we rescue Clancey and his men, the WPT was not designed to operate continuously forever. At some point in time, it would overheat, and GLaDOS would wake up again. It is not a permanent solution, but a quick fix for when no other option is available."

Again, the room broke out in quiet whispers as everybody tried to come up with a solution. "You sure you don't have an idea?" asked Wheatley in her ear.

Chell shrugged, but something was growing in the forefront of her mind. The best idea she'd got was taking shape and, not wanting to draw attention to herself just yet, she secretly pulled out her notepad and began to write, hunched over so that Wheatley could not see.

"What about the encryption?" asked the red-haired man named Richard. "Surely what we have in place is enough to stop GLaDOS if she really decides to try to break into the Core, Clifford? We've had the best team of computer scientists around working on this thing, after all. We've had to make sure that all of the PAIR-bots would be safe and resistant to hackers, too. It's not like the Core is unprotected."

It was Doug who replied to this. "It will not be enough," he said seriously. "She may be three decades old, ancient in terms of this millennia's technologic breakthroughs, but she's more determined and smarter than any human or machine you will ever meet."

Chell finished off the last bit of what she was writing while Doug finished speaking, and knocked hard on the tabletop, twice. Every member of the The Coalition looked at her, and she pushed the little notepad across the polished tabletop. It came to rest beside Clifford's cup with a slight bump.

He picked it up and began to read. She watched his face grow into an appreciative smile as he did so. She nervously twisted her hands in her lap. Surely they'd all think she was insane, but it really was the best—and least expected—thing she could come up with.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have found our best solution," Clifford announced, much to her surprise. "Miss Chell, thank you. What she is suggesting—prepare yourselves, for this is quite the unorthodox idea—is that we go into Aperture, not only to rescue Mr. Clancey and his team, but with the intention of having a discussion with the AI herself. One with the goal of persuading her to vacate her own facility temporarily."

There was an outburst around the table.

"Are you serious?" asked one of the engineers.

"No, he's not," answered another, shaking his head.

"I think he is."

"You're wrong—this is _madness…_ "

"No, it's _suicide_! _Talk_ with her? That's impossible—"

"I think you'll find that you're wrong," said Clifford calmly. "It all depends on the situation—for example, I can think of at least one person present here today whom GLaDOS may be willing to hear out."

There was a short silence, during which Chell felt very awkward.

"We cannot, of course, tell her all of the truth. We must find a way to make it seem in her best interest for her to help us instead. It will doubtlessly be very challenging, and very dangerous, but," he grinned widely despite the many horrified expressions throughout the room, "I have an idea. Miss Chell," he addressed her and instantly she sat up straighter in her chair, "I know that I have no authority over you, as you are not an actual member of The Coalition, but I have a request…"

She was rather nervous all of a sudden. Fifteen pairs of eyes had flicked toward her, and she felt sure she knew what was coming next. She'd already thought long and hard about it, and she had made her decision during the lunch break—that was, if Clifford was about to ask her what she thought he was.

Sure enough, "I would like you to accompany James, Henry, Ryan, and I back into Aperture Science as a part of Assignment B," he asked, watching her closely. "To rescue our trapped friends, and to persuade GLaDOS to take up temporary residence inside of an android body of her choice."

The weight of his words was heavy on her heart, despite how confident she'd felt about her decision. It was so heavy that she felt them pressing into her chest as though they were hanging in the air itself. Slowly, with just as much sincerity and meaning behind the motion as Clifford had used in his voice, she nodded.

"That is wonderful," said Clifford, looking very pleased but very tired and extremely old. "We'll be leaving tomorrow at dawn. And when we are finished with this meeting, I should like if you could hang on a moment and have a few words with me in private, Chell, if that is all right…?"

Feeling somewhat stunned beyond comprehension at herself now that it was all starting to sink in, she nodded slowly once more.

"Great," he said finally, before addressing the rest of the room again. "Now, if any of you have remaining questions, now is the time to ask away, then, so that we will be all free to go and spend the evening at our leisure before it gets too late in the day…"

Chell slumped down in her seat, numb from the inside out. So it was really happening, then. She had just put forth this absolutely ludicrous, downright dangerous idea, to solve a problem that wasn't even her problem to begin with in order to help keep a group of people she'd just met safe—and now, she was going to walk right back into Aperture Science and face the construct that had spent the entire time they'd known each other trying to kill her, just so that she could try and manipulate her into leaving the one place she'd lay down her life to defend. The engineer who had spoken earlier was right. It was suicide.

And yet, she couldn't bring herself to deny that there was a part of her that needed to do it. It would be wrong, if she didn't—she was the one person out of the entire group who GLaDOS had showed respect towards, if you could call it that. She was the only one who had ever stood a chance against her.

GLaDOS had been generous with Chell's freedom once. Chell didn't know if she'd be generous with her freedom twice—but, she thought, as she grit her teeth in determination—there was only one way to find out.

That was the thing about being in the most tenacious ninety-ninth percentile. You never give up. Ever.

*~II~II~II~[]*[]~II~II~II~*


End file.
